Bad Moon Rising
by cakeisnotpie
Summary: After their last team up, reluctantly, with Clint Barton, agent of SHIELD, Sam and Dean find themselves in Washington D.C. investigating suspicious murders. With Clint busy, Carol Danvers steps in to help look into an organized pack of werewolves, but things are much more complicated than they seem. Pairings: Clint Barton/Dean Winchester, Carol Danvers/Sam Winchester
1. Chapter 1

"_Did you hear that?" Derek glanced into the shadows of the next aisle as they walked between the towering metal shelves, each piled with treasures from history from across time and distance, numbered and neatly stored. "I could swear there's something over there, professor."_

"_It's nothing," the older man said, only half-listening as he searched for the right shelf and bin number. "Keep looking. We have to find the right case before we can verify the providence of the piece."_

_A shadow darted through the empty space in front of them, across the windows, silhouetted for the briefest of moments._

"_Professor," Derek began, but the other man wasn't listening, pulling a moving ladder over to a shelf._

"_Here it is! I'll reach it down to you," he said as he began to climb, raising him arms over head to catch the handle of a heavy wooden box. Using both hands to steady the container, he started to reach it down. "Derek? Where are you? Grab the end of …."_

_The box fell with a crash as the professor saw the blood spattered from Derek's body, still convulsing, his eyes slowly fading. Packing straw spilled out, soaking up the spreading puddle as the professor stumbled down the stairs, dropping to his knees. He looked up as the shadow blotted out the overhead light, red fangs and hands covered with gore poised above his head._

_And then they ripped his heart from his chest._

Sam was amazed that they made it as far as they did with their fake badges. He'd told Dean the plan wouldn't work; it took an amazing amount of hubris to pretend to be agents when they were just blocks away from the F.B.I. Headquarters in D. C. But they'd gotten into the building, down the stairs and were now standing mingled among employees, within sight of the crime scene tape and the black suited agents and lab techs in white coveralls. At least Dean hadn't tried to bluff their way into a group of what were obviously government types; they'd have to make do with what they could hear now and conduct interviews later.

A woman brushed past him and ducked under the yellow tape; Sam's first thought was that she had a really nice ass showcased in her snug jeans, slung low on her curvy hips, tucked neatly into brown low heeled boots. The soft blue cotton of her Led Zeppelin concert shirt clung to her breasts, framed by a brown bomber jacket, the real deal pilots wore, not one of the fake coats anyone could buy. Her blue eyes were intense, blonde hair tied back, little red gems hanging from her earlobes.

"Who the hell is that?" Dean asked. Sam shrugged; it was obvious she was expected as one of the dark suited men met her, nodding as she stepped closer to observe the scene. "She's not a fed, that's for sure."

Her eyes surveyed the tableau of death, two bodies piled one on top of the other, and then turned to check the rest of the room, circling slowly until her gaze passed over the onlookers, returned, and settled on the Winchesters with a glint of recognition. Tilting her head to the agent, she spoke and motioned towards them.

"Ah, shit, I think we've been made." Dean started to fade back into the group, easing towards the door. Hiding in the crowd was easier said than done for two men as tall as they were, but both had learned the art of looking normal and unassuming.

"Dean and Sam Winchester?" Amazing how a name could make people notice you; the others stepped aside, leaving them exposed to the agent. "Ms. Danvers said your expertise will be welcome. If you'd join us?"

Sam threw Dean the question, one eyebrow raised; his brother gave him the shoulder wiggle that meant, "what the hell, why not?" Following, they crossed the space to where the blonde waited.

"Sam," she held her hand out to him without hesitation; Sam slid his hand in hers for a moment, their blue eyes meeting, hers filled with humor. "Dean." She did the same for his brother, a brisk shake and slight smile, looking a little longer as if sizing Dean up. "Carol Danvers. We could use your take. This might just be in your area of expertise."

"What happened?" Dean asked, putting off the inevitable question of who she was in favor of the case in front of them.

"April, this is Dean and Sam Winchester. They're working with me," Carol said to the woman who was kneeling by the bodies. "Can you bring us up to speed?"

"Professor Allen Markowitz, age 45, and Derek Shields, 27. They were here on a fellowship, working on some historical research, Civil War family genealogy or something like that." The woman stood up; she wore the unofficial uniform of police detectives everywhere: off-the-rack suit, white button-up shirt, slightly rumpled. She'd added a paisley scarf to try to add some personal style. "They signed in at 3:43 p.m. yesterday … all visitors have to … and then never signed out. One of the janitorial staff found them at 5:56 a.m. this morning. The last person to see them was another researcher, one Dr. Robert Gordon, as he was leaving at 7 o'clock last night. They spoke, talked about meeting for lunch today."

"Any idea on time of death?" Carol asked.

"The coroner will have an estimate later," the detective replied. "But we can say whoever did this would draw a lot of attention to themselves. They'd have been covered in blood. Both men had their throats ripped down to their spinal cords."

As they were talking, Sam wandered over to the shelves, noting the position of the ladder and the shattered wooden box on the floor. Slipping his phone out of his pocket, he snapped some quick pictures.

"This is going to sound strange, but are their hearts missing?" Dean asked; April seemed surprised, but Carol only nodded, as if expecting the question.

"Why, yes. That's the weird part of all this. Four bodies, completely different circumstances, but all with no hearts. The brass thinks we might have a pattern. That's why they asked the F.B.I. for support."

"Four?" Dean's question was sharp and focused.

"Found the first six days ago. A garage mechanic out in Arlington. Looked like a robbery gone bad; he ended up smashed under a Suburban. Took the M.E.'s office four days to piece him together. Then a jogger in Rock Creek Park; theory was she fell and animals got to her body. She was found three days ago, but died first, probably two weeks earlier."

Dean's look to Sam said it all. Werewolves, no doubt.

"Excuse me, but do we know what Professor Markowitz was looking for down here?" Sam bent to look at the shattered pieces of bone china that spilled across the floor. Half of a hand painted teapot sat in a circle of dried blood, roses covered in red specks.

"No, but we can ask the Head Archivist. He's next on my list," Carol gave April a pat on the shoulder. "Let me know any new developments, okay, Sherlock?" The two women shared a laugh.

"Same for you, Marvel. You, I trust. The feds? Not so much." She turned back to the techs.

Dean managed to make it to the stairwell, out of view and earshot of the others before he caught the woman's arm and brought them to a halt. Sam was only surprised it had taken Dean this long; his brother didn't like being out of the loop, and Carol obviously knew who they were.

"Alright, that's far enough. Who exactly are you, and what's going on?" he demanded.

She shook off his hand easily. "Lt. Carol Danvers. I work with Clint Barton. He said you might show up here." Her smile was genuine. "Been looking forward to meeting you. The Hawk speaks highly of you."

Dean got that look – the one he had whenever Clint's name surfaced in conversation - and Sam's couldn't help but grin at the sight of his brother's flustered face.

"So you're with SHIELD?" Sam asked. Carol turned her full attention to him; there was something about her gaze, the way she really looked at him. Oh, she checked him over from head to toe, a definite spark of interest in her eyes when she was done, and Sam's cock stirred at the thought of that intensity channeled into other pursuits. He returned her smile with one of his own, ignoring Dean's eye roll at the silent exchange.

"Sort of. I'm more of a … consultant … I specialize in enforcement and justice, I guess you could say."

Sam's eyes narrowed at the explanation which didn't clarify anything. "So you don't work for SHIELD?"

Carol only winked and turned to Dean. "Your brother's not the trusting type, I take it."

"He's coming off a problematic relationship," Dean offered with a shit-eating grin. "He's off of women at the moment."

"Fine," Sam knew he'd been outflanked. "We need to check those other two victims, visit the scenes, and see if the Head of this place knows anything."

. . . . . . . .

"So Abigail Adams had Hera's bowl, kept her pins in it, and that's what you think they're after? How does that connect to the tea set Professor Markowitz was looking for?" Carol walked out of the building with them, pulling up information on her notebook tablet, watching the brothers as they worked through the problem in front of them. Clint had talked about the two hunters with admiration – and that was saying a lot if Clint trusted them. But even more interesting had been what Clint didn't do; he'd described Sam, the way the two worked as a unit, even their silent communication skills, but he didn't talk much about Dean other than to say that the man was damn handy in a fight and that he liked rock music. He'd neglected to mention how their file photos didn't do them justice, how Sam's boyish handsomeness showed beneath his outward strength. And of Dean's model good looks, well, Clint had been mysteriously quiet. Carol thought she knew exactly what that meant.

"These items tend to pass down through families or into the hands of people who fit a certain profile. Abigail was a strong woman, wife of one president, mother of another. Makes sense the bowl would find its way into another powerful family." Carol had to admit the two were good investigators, falling easily into the flow of good cop/bad cop even with a new element – her – in the mix. And Dean could glower his fill; it didn't bother her one bit. Now, Sam … yeah he could look at her with those puppy dog eyes all he wanted. THAT didn't bother her either.

"We can't assume the teapot had anything to do with it; they could have been in the wrong place at the wrong time." Dean offered, obviously relishing his role as devil's advocate or just being obstinate, Carol couldn't tell which. "We need a complete listing of what's in that area of the building."

"You saw the way he looked when you demanded that." Sam argued with his brother. "He's not going to hand that info over."

"Here." Carol reached forward and showed Sam her notebook where a long list of items scrolled on the screen. "It's a massive amount to comb through. I'll get Jarvis on it right away. Maybe we can pare it down with some specific parameters. Important families, strong women." Her fingers flew over the screen, entering data, and the list began to narrow.

"Cool toys." Dean muttered. "Got any exploding arrows?"

"Don't need them," she said, smugly. "Clint's the one who has his toys." From Dean's abrupt silence, she knew she'd hit her target. Oh, god, she was going to get so much mileage from this little bit of knowledge. She'd make Clint do her paperwork for a good month in exchange for her silence. Or KP duty. Yeah, she hated doing dishes.

"I think it's worth checking out the mechanic and the jogger. See if we can build a pattern. Garage first?" Dean said, changing the topic, and Carol let him, catching Sam's eye and winking. They turned the corner and Carol came to an abrupt stop. The black car sat at the curb, parked illegally, slick finish shining in the late afternoon sun as Dean walked around to the driver's side.

"Is this your car?" She stepped up to the Impala, running a hand along the curve of the trunk. There was nothing better than a classic muscle car in prime condition … except maybe a classic muscle car in prime condition driven by two sexy men. "Damn, boys. This is one fine ride. '69?"

"'67," Dean practically beamed with pride at her reverent tone.

"We are so taking this baby." With a wicked grin, she leaned against the shiny black finish. "What do I have to do to get the keys? I promise I'll be careful with her." She pretty much meant it too; she'd give anything to turn this lover over and feel the way it handled.

"Sorry," Dean opened the driver's door. "But Sam will let you ride in the front seat, right?"

"Sure," Sam opened the door for her. As she slid in, she knew she'd find some way to get behind the wheel of this wet dream of a car. It was just a matter of finding the right leverage.

. . . . . . . . . . .

The Point Auto Shop was open when they drove into the lot, three of the four bays filled with cars in various stages of repair; men were working, but the last bay stood empty, even though there were cars lined up along the side of the building. As they rumbled to a stop, an older black man exited the office, tablet pc in his grease stained hands; he altered his path when he got a good look at the Impala.

"Nice car!" he called. The nametag proclaimed he was Mac. "How can I help you?"

"FBI. We'd like to ask you some questions about the death of Walter Emmerts." Dean flashed his fake badge, knowing Sam would follow his lead. Who the hell knew what Danvers would do? Clint's 'friend' had been helpful – Dean would admit that much – but her needling was getting on his nerves. Sam was bad enough with that damn picture he kept on his phone, but now this unknown woman kept bringing up the agent Dean was trying to forget. Okay, she had good taste in cars, but that wasn't enough.

"I already told the police everything I know, which isn't much," Mac brushed his hand along his coveralls; a sadness filled his eyes at the mention of the dead man.

"If you could go through it again, we'd appreciate it," Sam said, pulling his phone from his pocket to take notes. Out of the corner of his eye, Dean saw Carol wander in the direction of the empty bay; she scanned the ground as she went in the way that a good investigator did, watching for anything out of the ordinary.

"Well, Walt was working late, fixing Sal Johnson's Camaro – that's another nice classic car, even if Sal pimps it up too much and rides the clutch too hard, which was what Walt was working on – anyway, I left about 7:00ish, my granddaughter had a band concert, not that kids that age do more than blow into their instruments and make noise, but she loves it when her Papaw shows up, so I had to get out of here early, before closing, to make the drive all the way up to Gaithersburg. Said goodbye, made sure things were going okay – he was almost finished, said he'd be done in an hour or less, cause he wanted to go meet his girl for a late dinner. That was it. Next thing was the phone call from the police; someone saw the light still on and stopped in – their mini-van was rattling and they were worried about it stopping on the road home – and they found him. Or what was left of him."

Throughout the man's long rambling speech, Dean surveyed the area; the street was fairly busy, but the building turned sideways, so the bay where the man had died was on the furthest end, half-hidden. Clean and tidy, the business looked prosperous, and Mac seemed genuinely torn up about Walter. All told, it seemed like a normal shop in a busy suburban area. Except for a smashed body missing its heart under an SUV.

"Did Walt have any enemies?" Sam followed up. Dean had lost sight of Carol; she'd entered the building and hadn't come out yet. He had the itch to follow her, to see if she found anything. Clint might be someone he could trust, but he hardly knew this Carol woman – and saying she was a friend of a friend didn't quite cut It for Dean.

"Nah, he was a great guy. Hard worker. Learned everything he knew in the service – he was a mechanic for the Army, did two tours in Afghanistan, could keep any vehicle running with spit and twine. A real MacGyver type, if you know what I mean. Sure, he had a little trouble adjusting to coming home – so many of them do, you know – but he never missed work, never even late. Just an occasional few days off."

"And the girlfriend? Any family?"

"Just a step-sister, out west somewhere …. Harry!" he shouted back into the office. "Where was Walt's sister living again?"

"Nevada," came the answering shout.

"Nevada. And the girl was Mary Andrews. Worked down at the Starbucks in the metro station. Going to school to be a psychiatrist or a psychologist or one of those mental doctor types. Good kid."

Dean saw Carol emerge and squat down near the floor of the garage; he crossed the lot and looked over her shoulder at the red stains still evident on the concrete.

"They dropped the car on him while he was standing under it, according to the report," she started talking as she stood up. "The control is over there by the workbench, pretty long way away, so you've got ask yourself why was still under the car. Even with a gun on you, I'd take the chance to dive out of the way. He didn't. But here's the strange part." She turned the small device in her hand to show Dean a graph that made no sense to him at all, but he didn't want to admit it, so he just nodded. She tucked the analyzer back in her pocket. "High level of an unknown anti-body in his blood stream. The lab's going to start working on identifying it right away. Something was going on at a genetic level in his body."

"Anti-bodies?" Sam asked from behind them. He and Mac had followed them over; Carol stood and held her hand out to the older man.

"Carol Danvers. I work with SHIELD." With a firm handshake, she smiled at the owner.

"SHIELD? Since when do you work with FBI? If I remember, Fury hates all the other agencies." Mac laughed as he looked Carol up and down. "Bet these two aren't really FBI. His hair's way too long to be regulation."

"You ex?" Carol asked.

"Until a HYDRA blast in '02. Got out and started this place."

Dean watched the two of them fall into an easy discussion of the murder, thick as thieves; he'd noticed the way she said she'd worked with SHIELD, not for them. An important distinction, but he didn't know why just yet. Whatever SHIELD did, membership, even those retired, seemed to mean automatic insider status.

"Told you the hair was a dead giveaway," he muttered to Sam.

"Yeah, and the car is standard issue? Give me a break," Sam shot back. At least they knew they'd gotten all they could from the owner now that he was Carol's best friend.

, , , , ,

It was growing dark by the time he reached the specific spot in Rock Creek Park where the jogger had died. Police tape still hung limply from one of the trees, but the area had already been cleared out and left to the elements. Squatting down, Dean looked at the ground, hoping to find some insight as to what had happened, but there was little left to see. He glanced around for Sam and Carol – they were sweeping the path in either direction, looking for any clues – but they were out of sight. A branch cracked off to his left, further back into the thicket; he drew his gun just as two men stepped out of the shadow of the trees, their own weapons leveled at him.

"Wrong kind of shoes for hiking," Dean quipped; both of them wore shit kicker biker boots, worn and scuffed, with their jeans and jackets. "So I guess you're not joggers either." He waited for them to speak, to issue some sort of threat, but they remained silent. "Umm, this is where you call me some creative name and tell me I have to come quietly. Haven't you been to thug school yet?"

Their eyes glinted silver, canines elongated as they smiled. "Nah," said the one on the left. "Don't have to do anything. He'll take care of it all."

A muscular arm whipped around Dean's chest and a hand pressed an injector against his neck; with a hiss, tranquilizer flooded his system, the world spiraled out of control, and the earth came up to meet him.

. . . . . . . .

"Where the hell did he go?" Sam fumed. "We were only gone a few minutes."

Carol dropped down and put her hand on the ground. "Someone took him. Three men I think, but not quite human."

"What?" Sam was torn between being angry at Dean for wandering off or being scared that something had happened to his brother, and either way, he wasn't in the mood to be civil to this woman who appeared to just pull information out of the air.

"The more recent the event, the easier it is," she was distracted and didn't pay attention to Sam's reaction. Some sort of sixth sense or something? Sam was incredulous. Great. He needed to find Dean, not deal with this. "He was alive, that's for sure."

"Look, it's not like I don't believe in psychics … I've known a few real ones in my life, but only a few … excuse me this just stretches belief." Sam ran a hand through his hair, frustrated by the turn of events. If Dean had run off on some wild hair, he was going to read him the riot act when he got back. But the Impala was still in its parking spot, and Sam's gut said that Carol was probably right – Dean was missing.

"There's a lot you don't know about me, but none of this is helping your brother." Carol gave him a hard look as she pulled her phone out of her jeans pocket. "You don't have to trust or even believe me, but Clint will kill me, creatively, if I let anything happen to Dean on my watch." Before someone could answer her call, she lowered the phone, and Sam could tell that her senses were on alert, surveying the woods around them. "They're coming, at least two of them, from the …."

Two men burst out of the low growth shrubs, launching themselves at Sam and Carol. Eyes glowing silver, claws instead of fingernails, long canines – the werewolves were on them fast; Sam had time to dodge to the side and draw his knife, but the werewolf's claws caught his shoulder, ripping through his outer coat and shirt, drawing blood. Slashing under hand, Sam swung the sharpened silver edge at the man's stomach, but he danced backwards, a wide-mouthed grin on his face.

"Got to do better than that, boyo," he taunted, moving with the speed and grace of a martial artist as he threw a roundhouse punch which connected to Sam's chin, knocking him three steps back. "Heard you were big bad hunters, you and your brother. Not so impressive, I have to say."

Sam shook his head to clear it from the last blow. "Yeah, well, I've taken down bigger monsters than you." He feinted to the left, and then drove to the right, catching the werewolf's arm with his blade; the man jumped at the touch of silver on his skin.

"I'm not playing with you, kid. Orders are to put you down." Punches followed, quickly, a style of fighting that had Sam pushed back into a tree trunk in short order. He could barely deflect the powerful strikes, much less worry about Carol; this was the strongest damn werewolf he'd ever met, and the man had serious training and skills.

"What the hell have you done with my brother?" Sam growled when the man pinned him against the tree with his forearm, palming his knife for a last ditch effort to take the werewolf out.

"Count yourself lucky. He's in for much worse."

The werewolf drew his hand back for a killing blow when a bright bolt of light slammed into his back, and he arched his frame, mouth opening in a scream of pain. Sam drove the knife home, into the heart, and the man's eyes widened in surprise at his death, dropping to his knees and falling on his side

Carol floated a few feet away, hands outstretched, second werewolf on the ground at her feet. Sam blinked. Carol was floating, literally, feet off the ground.

"What the…" Sam started to ask, but the other werewolf made a last ditch leap at Carol, surging up towards her. She spun, effortlessly, flying a little higher, two quick bolts blasting from her hands at the man, knocking him back down.

"What keeps them down?" She asked Sam; for a second, he could only stand and look at the flying woman, but then years of hunter experience of the weird and supernatural kicked in and he tossed her the knife.

"Silver. In the heart." She landed and dispatched the twitching figure quickly.

"So," she said after a few heartbeats of looking at Sam's incredulous face. "Guess Clint didn't exactly fill you in on the team, I take it?"

Sam shook his head no.

"Well, then, let's try this again." She held her hand out to Sam. "Hi. I'm Carol Danvers, also known as Ms. Marvel. Nice to meet you."

The picture snapped into focus for Sam, all the little things he'd missed suddenly making sense. "You're one of the Avengers." Carol nodded. "And Clint? You called him Hawk. He's Hawkeye." Another nod. "Oh, god. Clint talked about Tony … that would be Tony Stark?" One more affirmation from Carol. "The freakin' Avengers." Sam felt the grin spread across his face. "Dean's going to shit a brick when he finds out. Probably get really pissed at Clint."

"I'll love a front row seat to that little discussion," Carol said. "But first we have to find him."

That sobered Sam up quick; the grin disappeared, and it was his turn to nod. There was not time to think about flying superheroes. Dean was out there, and, if the werewolf had been telling the truth, he was in serious trouble.


	2. Chapter 2

Dean's head was pounding, and his mouth felt like it was stuffed with cotton when he finally came awake. Plus, he was completely naked; that didn't surprise him as much as it used to. For some reason, he ended up like this way all too often – drugged, tied up, and bare-assed. Keeping his eyes closed, he took a quick inventory; feet on the floor, standing upright, arms raised with handcuffs on his wrists, hooked to something above him. Cold room … he was shivering in a downdraft of cool air … and there were sounds all around him: people walking in shoes on a wooden floor, furniture being moved, chairs unfolding, and the occasional cough or sniff. He counted two, maybe three, distinct footstep patterns as he let his other senses do most of the work. A fruity smell came from close by and sweat, lots of sweat, some of it probably his.

Chin resting on his chest, he continued to fake it, noting that his body seemed to be in fairly good shape; except for the ache in his arms from being raised too long, there were no bruises or new sore spots, just the usual complaints from too many years of hunting and fighting. He was ready to kick the shit out of anyone who came near and the whole naked thing didn't even slow down his plans to escape this craziness.

"Oh, good, you're awake. You may as well open your eyes, dear. You're can't bluff you way out of this one." A hand caught the scruff of his neck and raised his head; he opened his eyes to find an older woman in front of him, looking for the world like the stereotypical Hollywood grandmother, right down to the orthopedic shoes, grey hair pulled into a tight bun, and brown face lined with winkles.

"Can't blame me for trying." Dean was thinking fast and furiously about how to get out of this mess. He could see he was in a theatre, seats arranged in stair-stepped arcs rising up from the wooden stage; he hung suspended from what looked like a sturdier version of a child's swing set – bolted into the floor, damn it – on the left side, facing the audience. The stage itself was cleared except for a number of weapons strewn about, seemingly in random places.

"Of course not. For normals, it might have worked. But I can smell you, you know, and you do smell luscious." Okay, grandma flirting was not something Dean really wanted to hear right now. "Now, there's just enough time to get you ready before things get started. Threw quite a monkey wrench into the plans, didn't you, naughty devil." She took a few steps over to a table, picked up a cup and poured some soda into it.

Dean tensed his muscles; he didn't necessarily want to hit an old lady, but, honestly, it wouldn't be the first time. Monsters came in all shapes and sizes, and he knew it was kill or be killed. Even if they looked like a smaller version of Madea.

"I wouldn't if I were you, ducky." In the time it took for Dean to blink, she'd moved up close and personal in his face; her smile revealed a set of canines that looked all too familiar. "Don't be deceived by the packaging. I can kick your mighty fine ass if I need to. Now, you're probably thirsty. Have a sip or two."

Dean took a drink, letting the carbonated liquid clear out some of the lingering effects of the knock-out drug.

"Time to take your medicine," she held up her hand; three tiny blue pills were on her palm. "Be a good boy, now."

"No way in hell am I taking anything, bitch." Dean glared at her.

"Oh, you'll want these if you get picked. Can't have you not performing well, can we? It makes us look weak in front of our visitors. Now," she grabbed his cock with her hand, and Dean choked, opening his mouth to utter a curse; with a quick motion, she jammed the pills in his throat and held it closed until he had to dry swallow. Then she offered him more soda to wash the taste out. "See? Not hard at all." She winked as she gave his cock a little stroke. "But you will be."

She went back to the table and returned with a tube of oil – the fruity smell – and with quick efficient motions, began oiling his body. Starting at the chest, she worked her way down to his cock, leaving no part of him untouched, despite his best efforts to jerk away from her; she clucked at him and held him with an iron grip as she did the same to his back and his ass.

"God damn it," Dean cursed as her fingers circled and slipped between his legs to cover him entirely in the clingy oil. "Haven't you ever heard of bad touching?"

"You'll thank me later, boy," she grinned, and the malicious smile unnerved him. "Personally, I think having you here is wrong – we should just follow the old ways and serve you up for dinner – but I'm not in charge of that decision. I will, however, enjoy watching the Potential either mount you or kill you … maybe both … when the time comes." She gave his ass a stinging slap and caught his chin in her hands, forcing their eyes to meet. Hers were rimmed with silver, wildness in them tinged with madness.

"Is this the point where you tell me your plan and how I'm going to die slowly and horribly in some overly complex scenario?" Dean hardened his face, letting his anger show.

"Oh, love, yes, I can see it now. You'll make a perfect beta once they break you. All that rage and self-loathing, plus hunter's instincts. Maybe this old bird was wrong." Laughing to herself, she picked up a blindfold and tied it around his eyes, effectively blinding him. "They didn't tell you anything did they? Sadistic fuckers, all of them. Well, here's a news flash for you. In a little bit, the four new potential alphas will fight it out for a chance to get the bite; last one standing wins. You, my lovely, are one of the potential betas. We work in teams around here. They think you'd make a fine addition to the pack, with the right alpha to control you. If you're lucky, you won't get picked and die quickly." She laughed at that. "Either way, it's going to hurt like hell."

…..

"Anything yet?" Sam asked, looking up from his laptop at Carol seated across the small table at the busy Starbuck's. They'd gone with the only untapped lead they had – Walter's girlfriend – and were waiting on her to show up for the closing shift. Despite his single-minded purpose to find Dean, Sam had to admit that Carol was a useful person to have around right now; she had a lot more gadgets and resources than Sam did, and she was willing to use all of them to help. Copies of the police and coroner's reports appeared quickly in his email inbox with just one phone call from Carol to her friend April at the Metro Police; already, preliminary reports were back on the blood they'd found in the garage.

"Do you know how many missing people are reported in D. C.? Give me a minute to narrow this down." Her fingers fairly flew across the tablet p.c.'s screen. "If we limit to the time frame from the first murders until now … take out non-custodial abductions … hmmmmm ….. I've got about 52 possibles … if we organize them … male and female … location … ethnicity … other … oh, wait, 24 missing veterans were reported. That's a pretty high percentage, don't you think?"

"Walter was a vet," Sam scooted his chair around so he could look at Carol's screen, squeezing into the corner by the window; his leg pressed against hers, and he leaned his arm on the back of her chair, bringing their heads together. He checked the report on his laptop. "Hold on, Darla McQueen, our jogger. Never served in the military … wait, they interviewed the boyfriend, John Andrews. He was a marine, served in Iraq."

"Do you see that?" Carol pointed to the dates of the reports, but Sam couldn't see anything specific about them, so he shook his head, bending in to read the numbers, shoulder brushing Carol's. "Every four weeks or so. Same time of the month. I bet …" A quick search and she had the phases of the moon for the time in question. The dates fell into a pattern, even clearer when she shifted to a calendar chart; the reports all came during or right after a full moon.

"Well, damn." Sam said as the implications hit him. "That your sixth sense at work again?"

"Just good old fashioned women's intuition; kind of use to the every four weeks thing, you know?" She turned her head to see him, and Sam realized he could feel her breath stir his hair and see that her eyes had flecks of gold mixed in with the blue. For a second he really looked at her, at her smile that was slightly crooked, her nose that was a little too narrow, and the smattering of freckles across her cheeks; with a little harrumph of air, the corner of her lips quirked up in a lopsided smile that struck him as more than a little sexy.

"Right, of course, yeah, makes sense," the words stumbled out of his mouth; real smooth, Sam, he thought to himself when her eyes crinkled in amusement. "I mean, sounds like they're targeting military types. All these people had homes and families and jobs; none of them show any PTSD or post-service issues. Damn." The answer hit him. "They're recruiting. Those two guys in the park were more controlled, better trained than any werewolf I've seen before. Bet they were military too."

"Let me get Jarvis started on tracking back these people, where they served, trained, who they reported to. Maybe we can find a connection." Carol's attention was back on her screen, and Sam took one last look at her profile, her eyes darting as they followed the shifting information before her, forehead wrinkled just above her nose in concentration. Then he turned back to his laptop and began searching for any known links between werewolves and the military.

…..

He was sweating, even though it was cool, skin flushed as two others took their places on either side, bumping into him and making their animosity plain.

"Not going to happen, hunter boy," the one on his left whispered. "I'm going to be the one who puts you down when this is over. Remember that."

"Don't listen to him," the one on the right shot back. "The Potential's going to cut your throat just for fun."

Dean stayed quiet, trying to put the pieces together; alpha, beta, choosing, potentials … it was adding up to something downright scary. He knew werewolves ran in packs, but this type of organization was new; there was that one time in Texas where a group of weres had turned bank robbers, hitting six places before they were caught. Much bigger, this operation was very different, more like a cult; tonight's ritual seemed quasi-religious, and Dean had a really bad feeling in his gut about his chances of getting out of this. Best hope was that Sam was out there looking for him right now.

People entered the room, walking towards them. "God damn it, they really did it, didn't they?" a male voice asked from in front of him. "Bringing in trash like this." Fingers grabbed his chin and jerked his face up; sour breath washed over him. "Can't wait until one of the big bad wolves gets to take out the big bad hunter." There were murmurs of assent – maybe two other voices – and the man on Dean's left laughed out loud.

They were moving around him, and Dean felt hands on his chest and back, hard pinches and pushes mingled with other, more sensual strokes. "I'm going to enjoy killing every single one of you sick motherfuckers," he threatened.

"Oh, big bad is all scary," one of them leaned over and bit Dean's ear, leaving a trickle of blood; Dean could feel the man's hairy chest brush against him, and he tamped down on the nausea that surged. He'd survived Hell, after all; this was a cake walk compared to that. The potential alpha snickered and walked away.

Hands caught his hips and held him still as a body came up against his back, as oily and slick as he was. It was definitely a man. Dean could feel a hard cock rubbing against his ass as the man leaned into him.

"I know they're not sorority girls, but it's the best I could do on short notice," Clint whispered.

It was a good thing Dean's blindfold covered his eyes or he was sure the others could have seen the surprise, and then a flash of relief, on his face. "Son of a bitch," he grumbled, keeping his voice angry.

"You up for this?" Clint asked, and Dean knew instantly that Clint was worried, the whole situation spiraling out of both of their control way too fast. He was asking permission for what was about to happen.

"I'm going to kill every fucker in this room, not matter what I have to do." That was the closest Dean could give to a yes with all the ears nearby; Clint was taking enough of a risk with the little he'd said.

"Oh, you're a live one," Clint spoke louder for the benefit of the room. "Good. I like it rough. If I don't leave a few bruises and broken bones, you can't remember me." He moved away with the other men, and, just like that, Dean let out the breath he didn't even realized he'd been holding. He might not relish the public part of this whole little play … to be honest, he kind of liked the watching part, thus the browsing history of Asian porn sites … but he didn't really enjoy the idea of being the one watched. Suddenly, the little blue pills made sense; stage fright could extend that far down, he guessed.

"Welcome to all our guests!" A voice rang out; everyone fell silent. "As you know, last potential standing will have the chance to move forward in the process and choose their beta. Only the strongest teams will receive the bite. All fighting is done is silence; beyond that, there are no rules."

The quiet was broken only by the pad of bare feet on wood; then, with no warning, the fighting started, and seats creaked as the crowd sat forward to watch. Dean could hear the thud of bodies as they began to collide – turns out you can hear bones crunching when a fist connects with a delicate area. The solid smack of a hit forced grunts of effort, and the rasp of metal against the ground changed into cries of pain when weapon sliced into skin. Half of what Dean could figure out came from the audience; they reacted when something happened with gasps, startled cries, and even aggressive growls.

The crowd had favorites, and Dean imagined that there was betting on the outcome; they damn well didn't know Clint Barton and that knowledge almost make him smile, imagining the surprise on their faces as they watched the man fight. When the first potential hit the ground hard, with a gurgling of liquid and a squelch that must have been painful, some of the crowd murmured their discontent. When the second one went down with a crack and thud, there were audible curses. Within minutes, cries of disbelief sounded as the third potential went down with a scream. The whole thing had taken no more than 10 minutes, if Dean's inner clock was right. Obviously, this was supposed to be a long drawn out affair, but Clint always did like it fast and hard.

"Damn." The guy on his right cursed under his breath. "What the hell just happened?"

The audience was a chorus of chatter, and Dean almost missed the approaching footsteps; he tensed but the hands that grabbed him were bruising as they clamped on his arms, and they dragged him up the stairs. He tried to struggle, but there were at least three of them and they held him down until he was onstage, leaving him there. Someone called for order, telling people to sit down, a different voice that Dean hadn't heard before, some big wig because they all obeyed.

"Is this your choice?" The voice asked.

"Yes," Clint answered from right behind, making Dean jump a little – that got a chuckle that sounded suspiciously like grandma wolf.

"Then proceed."

Maybe it was those damn blue pills, or maybe just the sudden knowledge that it was Clint behind him, sliding his muscular fingers across Dean's abdomen, but Dean's cock had hardened almost the instant he heard Clint's voice, jumping to attention like a good little soldier. That part of his body didn't seem to care about the specifics, just about how much he had missed the feel of those callouses dragging across his bare skin.

"Shit," Dean groaned as Clint's hand curled around his aching cock and stroked; he could hear a few delighted gasps from around them as Clint's thumb circled the sensitive head. Clint held him tight, one muscular arm across Dean's front, pressing him back into Clint's chest. The fighting hadn't lessened Clint's interest, if the firm cock that was sliding between Dean's cheeks was any proof; in fact, Clint was breathing heavily, and he moaned lightly at the friction between their bodies.

"You need to fight to make it believable," he kissed Dean's jaw and murmured into his ear. "Sorry, but this is going to hurt." Lips trailed down Dean's neck and then teeth broke the skin and sank into his shoulder, shooting jolts of pain down his arm as Clint bit into him.

"Fuck you." Dean didn't have to pretend to pull away; it hurt like the devil, so he yanked at the bonds of Clint's body. "There's no fucking way …"

Rant cut short when Clint sucked on the wound and pulled hard with his hand. Dean drew in a fast breath as his abs clenched, trying to keep himself from thrusting forward with the motion, but he was way too needy to stop himself, so his hips jerked against Clint's hand. He couldn't keep the groan of pleasure in his mouth as he felt the coiling of his climax in his gut. Damn pills were working alright.

That was when he went with his plan and swung his arms around, pivoting to break the hold; Clint caught Dean's wrists and twisted, forcing Dean to one knee. Holding the handcuffs with one hand, Clint grabbed Dean's neck and dragged his head back; bending down, he ground his lips against Dean's, teeth rattling as they collided, his tongue invading, taking what he wanted. His hold was so tight that Dean knew he would have bruises where the fingertips were pressing into his skull, but he honestly didn't care. Every part of him wanted nothing more than for Clint to just hurry up and fuck him, the tip of his aching dick bumping along Clint's inner leg. Groaning into Clint's mouth, he wiggled, trying to free himself to keep up the image of resistance, but all it did was make Clint kiss him harder, sucking Dean's tongue into his mouth and closing his teeth around it.

Rather than fight his way up, Dean let his body drop down to the floor; Clint released his hands as Dean barreled forward into Clint's legs. It wasn't an elegant move, but Clint's knees buckled and he stumbled back. When Clint went down, he fell on top of Dean, regaining the upper hand, holding Dean down by trapping his hands between their chests.

"Nice try, but no cigar," Clint actually laughed out loud, and there were breathy titters of approval. Damn him, but Clint had gotten even faster and seemed much stronger than he had before. Rather than release Dean, Clint merely shifted taround until his mouth was close enough, and then he licked Dean's cock from root to tip, sucking off the pearly liquid pooling in the cleft. With Clint practically lying on top of him, Dean could barely move, and he damn well didn't want to, not with the way Clint was taking him right to the edge with alternating deep and shallow pulls of his mouth. He was so damn ready that he couldn't think straight, the building pressure forcing him to lift his hips up and off the floor and shove himself into Clint's mouth until he was going to fucking explode, which he did just seconds after Clint's mouth left him. He strained upwards, muscles contracting as he came in fits and starts, groaning out loud. He wasn't even aware when Clint's weight lifted off of him and turned him over where he laid his head on the cool surface, trying to catch his breath. He had no idea what the crowd was doing, but there were groans that might have been someone else's orgasm as well.

As he felt Clint's oily hands on his hips, he lashed back with a kick, sitting up, intending to take Clint off guard; he managed to use the momentum to drive an elbow into Clint's stomach, but then he was forced down on his knees again, his face crushed into the floor, arms trapped beneath him, Clint's arm a heavy weight across his shoulders.

"Remember that time when you trapped me on the hood of the Impala?" Clint whispered in his ear as he bent forward, and his cock slipped between Dean's legs, head sliding past Dean's ass. "I let you take me down because I wanted you to fuck me. Hard, fast and rough. Just like I'm going to do now."

"Shit." Dean let himself vent his frustration; despite coming just moments before, he was still hard and aching for another round, preferably with Clint underneath him, begging his forgiveness for getting them into this mess; Dean was convinced that all of this was Clint's fault somehow. "Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Damn it all to hell."

Teeth nipped at his ear and then tongue licked the still sluggishly bleeding wound on his shoulder as he felt Clint's oily fingers trail down his ass to circle the tight muscle. "I know how you like it, Dean. Or have you forgotten?"

No, Dean hadn't forgotten, not a single touch or kiss or the way Clint looked in the shower, spread out against the wall, or how he liked to cry out Dean's name when he came in a half-moan and half-sigh. He hadn't forgotten just how much he liked the taste of whiskey inside of Clint's mouth or the saltiness of Clint's cum mixing with sweat when he licked it off his skin. And he certainly hadn't forgot those damn fingers, so talented at driving into him like they were doing now, pulling him apart, stretching him until he thought he'd fall into pieces.

"You're still hard, aren't you?" Clint said out loud as he sat back on his knees, working two fingers into Dean now, letting Dean's cock thump against the thigh he'd tuck between Dean's legs. "You will be all night, too. I'm going to fuck you until you can't walk for days, over and over again, until you do what I want, when I want it. You'll have bruises and my marks everywhere 'cause you like it that way …." God, Dean almost came again when Clint added another finger and stretched, " …. Rough, angry, violent. It's who you are, hunter."

"Jesus, fuck, just shut up and do it already." Dean gasped; he turned his face away from the audience so they couldn't see the glazed look of passion in his eyes.

Clint yanked his fingers out and Dean couldn't stop the sob that escaped at their sudden absence. "Don't ever tell me what to do." Clint's voice was hard and angry, but didn't see it coming until he felt the pain of Clint's bite, just above his hip bone; he cried out at the sharp stab followed by the soft lick of tongue. "Do you understand?"

Shaking his head yes, Dean caught his lower lip with his teeth; if he spoke right now, he was sure they could all hear how desperately needy he was, that his voice would be husky and deep, and the words that would tumble from his lips would be pleading for Clint to fuck him. God, this whole thing was kinky as hell … which was saying a lot given Dean's adventurous nature when it came to sex … and he was realizing that he just might like this kind of thing, the biting and the cuffs and, god help him, pretending to be broken.

"Good. That's lesson one," Clint said as Dean felt the tension as Clint's cock pushed past the tightly clenched entrance and plunged himself in. It hurt, no two ways about it. Even with Clint's fingers opening him, Dean could feel the burn as his body was forced to accept the hard fullness of Clint. He tried to breathe through it, relax; the weight on his shoulders eased up as Clint let go to anchor his hands on Dean's hips, shifting while he was fully sheathed. "Remember it."

The change in Clint's position made a difference; Dean rose up on his elbows, but left his head tucked between his shoulders to hide his face. Clint dragged fingers through the oil on Dean's back and pulled out of Dean, stroking himself to ease the second thrust which was smoother. He set a punishing pace of steady strokes and Dean quit trying to do anything but help, jerking his hips back to meet every plunge, cursing whenever Clint's cock touched his prostate. Audience was completely forgotten; there was nothing but the ache and the pleasure of it all.

And then Clint wound his fingers around Dean's cock, tugged, and Dean lost it. His brain went on autopilot, leaving his dick in charge, and he clenched his ass tight around Clint as a second, even more violent, climax hit him. His thigh muscles quivered and his head dropped back to the ground; Clint slipped his arm under Dean's hips to keep them upright. The metallic tang of blood filled Dean's mouth as he broke the tender skin of his lip trying so hard not to call Clint's name as he continued to convulse and empty himself on to the floor. Almost floating, Dean could hear the restless groans from the audience, some outright panting and a few sobs. He felt when Clint thrust the last few times, straining more with each one, and then exploded.

"Fuck it all to hell." Clint came down on top of him, his head resting on Dean's shoulders, lips turned to Dean's ear. "Rooms have cameras, but not sound. God damn it Dean, I don't think I can move." Dean didn't know how Clint managed to pull himself out and away from him, letting Dean's body slide to the ground now that Clint's hands weren't keeping him up. For his part, Dean went with it and curled into himself, back to the crowd, shaking now and feeling a little feverish from the Viagra, cock still hard and throbbing. He stayed that way until hands picked him up and carried him to a bed, locking the handcuffs around the metal bars of the headboard and leaving him alone.


	3. Chapter 3

"She's gone." Sam slammed a stack of unopened mail down on the front seat of the Impala. This search was getting him nowhere fast. The girlfriend had never showed up for her shift at Starbuck's so they'd gone to her apartment; now they had another missing person to add to the list.

"All of her things were still there, except her purse." Carol was in full investigative mode, looking for any small clue. "People who are running usually take a few things, photos, clothes, suitcase." She understood Sam's frustration; as time passed, it was more and more likely bad things were happening to Dean. With three dead bodies and all the missing people, whoever they were up against had covered their tracks well. Every frustrated move made Sam's love for his brother more obvious; he was really worried.

"So they took her too? She had to have known something." Sam had searched her laptop at the apartment, but there wasn't even a password, and her email account came up with a double click on the icon. There had been nothing interesting at all, just spam from catalogue companies and emails from her sister in Arizona, no clue to why she'd disappeared. "Damn it, it's another dead end."

Carol felt her phone vibrate and checked the display; a playlist of song titles appeared. Scrolling down, she saw "Perfect Strangers" by Deep Purple and quickly read through the rest. "It's Clint. He's here and he's with Dean. They'll contact us in the morning."

"Where are they?" Sam immediately started the car's engine; Carol laid a calming hand on his arm.

"The message is coded," she said. "He must be undercover; that's what he was doing, trying to infiltrate the weres. This means he succeeded. Look at it this way; now we'll have insider information."

Head dropping forward, Sam let out the breath he'd been holding. "Yeah, Dean will manage and if he's with Clint, hell, I feel sorry for the fuckers who grabbed him." His smile was lopsided and full of relief, and, damn if it wasn't one of the sweetest things Carol had seen in a long time. And sexy to boot. Honestly, since the accident that had changed her, dating had been much more complicated; finding a man who could handle her crazy life was next to impossible. From what she'd read of the Winchesters in the file, Sam just might fit the bill, though. And, looking at him, she was starting to think she really wanted to see if he fit. She could feel the flush creeping up her cheeks, and she tried to hold it back. Ms. Marvel didn't blush like a schoolgirl, damn it.

"Look, why don't we call it a night? Get some rest; hit it fresh in the morning. We can see what info Clint can give us." She studiously avoided words like 'bed' in her suggestion and hoped Sam didn't notice her interest as he turned his head to look at her, his hair falling down across his eyes. Unconsciously, he brushed it back behind his ear with one hand, and Carol watched the way his fingers slid through the brown length, the image of her hand doing the same popping into her head.

"Yeah, that's a plan. Where do you want me to take you?" He sat back and shifted into reverse to leave the parking lot, turning to look behind him, hair brushing along the collar of his plaid shirt. For a second Carol couldn't even remember where her hotel was, she was so intent on watching Sam's jaw, but then she jerked herself back to the real world.

"Not too far from here. We're using Tony's usual suite in the Hays-Adams downtown. If it's out of your way, I can catch a taxi."

"We hadn't found a place yet. Was going to check in after we cased the scene. After I drop you off, I'll find something." He moved into traffic, heading for the bridge back across the Potomac.

"Hey, there's no need for that. There's an extra bedroom in the suite." Carol offered even as she questioned her own sanity for suggesting such a thing. "It's got two beds and separate bathroom. Plus, the fridge is stocked on Tony's dime. Might be easier to share info that way."

Sam glanced over at her, an unreadable expression on his face, and she realized there were layers to the man, much more than she may have originally thought. "You sure? I don't want to impose."

"Yeah, no problem. I'm a pretty sound sleeper. You won't bother me." And wasn't that a lie, she thought, knowing she'd spend the night thinking about him just down the hall. "Besides, SHIELD would reimburse you for a room anyway, so I'm saving them money. And their per diem for a hotel sucks. You'd end up at some crapfest by-the-hour joint with paper thin walls."

Sam grinned at that and moved the car through the D. C. traffic with ease. "I certainly won't complain about a decent mattress for once."

….

It took longer than Clint expected to plow through the rest of the so-called festivities and get back to Dean; the whole time, he imagined just how pissed off Dean was going to be. After all, Clint knew there was no love lost for a hunter among this group; even the non-werewolves were champing at the bit to get a swing at the big bad monster killer. But undercover work couldn't be rushed; he had to play the role of the anxious supplicant, embracing the part of the ex-military adrenaline junkie with delusions of grandeur. His alter ego, Ted Robinson, wouldn't care one wit about the man he'd just humiliated and abused, so Clint couldn't just cut and run.

As he opened the door to the small room they'd given him, he caught sight of Dean, handcuffed to the tiny twin bed with its lumpy mattress, feet tied to the footboard. They'd left him naked, and Clint could tell from the red marks and fingernail trails on Dean's chest and side that the men had taken out some of their anger on him. Without a word, Clint closed the door and walked to the small music player on the table, fiddling with the controls for a moment before he popped it into a small speaker and "All Right Now" started playing.

"Camera's in the left hand corner above the door," he offered, opening a drawer and taking out some first aid supplies before he crossed the small space and sat down on the edge of the bed by Dean's knees, giving whoever might be watching a view of his back. "Seems they've been having problems with the audio for a few weeks now – conveniently a whole week before I got here – and now the video is on the fritz. It will probably take them a little while longer to realize the feed is overwriting itself every 24 hours or so. Quite a lemon of a system they have here." He opened the antiseptic ointment and squeezed a bit onto his hand; with gentle strokes he covered the bite mark on Dean's hip generously with the sticky gel.

"Lip reading?" Dean squirmed, and Clint could tell he was a little embarrassed by the state he was in; wounded, bruised, handcuffed, tied, but still rock hard, probably aching. Trying not to look – and it was really difficult because, damn, Dean Winchester was worth a second look clothed, but naked and fully erect? Only a saint wouldn't start to feel his own cock stir with appreciation, and Clint sure as hell wasn't saint material – Clint rummaged in the kit for some gauze.

"The video is grainy with distortion lines. Lip reading is impossible." Don't think about lips, Clint told himself, and, of course he looked right at Dean's, red indentions marking the lower lip from when Dean had bitten down on it. Not helping. No, that wasn't helping at all. "Latest in Stark Technology. Even the military doesn't have it yet. Also includes the ability to send coded messages through song titles. Tony gets us the best toys. I assume Carol found you guys? I let her know you were okay and that we'd meet up when I can get us out of here safely."

"Carol. Yeah. Met her earlier today. Didn't have much time before they grabbed me, but Sam will be with her, so he'll know. That's good." Dean discomfort eased a little, and Clint knew it was because he had quit worrying about his brother looking for him.

After bandaging the hip wound, Clint moved to the one on Dean's shoulder, stopping to smear ointment on the scratches, just in case. He thought it would be easier, but now his hip was against Dean's hip, pushing back towards the wall to get enough room to sit as he leaned forward, bringing his face down to a better angle to get a good look. Dean's cock jerked as he moved, and Clint studiously kept his eyes focused on the red circle that was caked with Dean's blood.

"Not looking isn't going to help, you know," Dean said. "What do they say on the commercials? Call your doctor if your erection lasts more than four hours? I think I'm approaching that magic moment here."

"Stop it. I'm being good here. Playing the nice guy, all nurturing and caring. Breaking a person's spirit 101. Mean bastard then comforting friend." Clint tossed the medical wipe he'd been using to clean the site and began covering it with ointment.

"Yeah, I know all about breaking people." Dean's face was serious and Clint knew better than to ask; it was a sore subject, the fact that Clint had read Dean's file without Dean knowing. He'd explained that the information was sketchy, not complete, but they'd reached a détente by simply not talking about it. Clint put the sterile gauze on and taped it down before Dean spoke again.

"So, you a werewolf now?" Hard green eyes met Clint's; that was the hunter's look, the one he'd seen Dean give vampires just before he separated their head from their bodies.

"Nope." The truth was easy. And it was the truth. "They make you prove yourself, jump through a bunch of hoops, before you get 'the bite' as they call it. Only the best of the best become pack. The rest are just flunkies and underlings. Although, after tonight's performance, I rising in the ranks pretty fast. Too fast for some."

Dean searched his eyes for a moment more, then visibly relaxed. "Never seen weres this organized. Paramilitary, like some cult or something. I don't mind admitting it's damn scary to think of them with a leader smart enough to pull this off."

Clint looked at the purpling marks on Dean's body: down his arm, under his knees, clear hand prints on his shoulders, chests, and hips. With a sigh, Clint traded the medicine for the round canister of Hyland's; he knew this was a bad idea, but the arnica would help Dean heal faster. It just wouldn't help the state of Clint's own body as his cock pushed against the zipper of the jeans he'd been allowed to slip on after the fight. He started to work on Dean's arm first.

"That's what I'm trying to find out – who's behind it. This is all tied together somehow, back to the vamps and Hecate, and now Hera's bowl and these guys." He tried to ignore the way Dean felt under his touch, the slight flush to his skin, the way he sucked in a quiet breath as Clint's hands spread the warming gel over; when his fingers fit perfectly into the five small bruises from where he'd held Dean down as he'd fucked him, Clint gritted his teeth and hissed slightly at the arousal that jolted through him. He was kinky, he knew that; he might have taken it all too far, but anything approaching the words 'I'm sorry' rarely came out of his mouth. "Look. Dean. You okay?"

Dean's mouth lifted on one side; the damn man was amused at Clint's attempt to broach the subject. And that levity broke through Clint's own discomfort; he rolled his eyes at Dean and moved to work on another spot, this one on Dean's side just under his arm.

"What to know what I think?" Dean was goading him now, and Clint was back on very familiar … and welcome … ground. "You, you son-of-a-bitch, pulled your punches that time that I took you down; you wanted it rough."

A quick flash of heat rolled into his groin and stayed there at the memory of the warm metal of the Impala's hood and Dean behind, thrusting into him with a hard fast strokes. His hand went from rubbing to stroking, slipping down to the bruise on Dean's hip, Clint's own mark from holding Dean still. "What can I say? The outcome was worth it, don't you think?"

Groaning quietly, Dean rolled his hips towards Clint's hand. "God damn it Clint, I'm dying here. Hands, mouth, I don't care, just do something."

With a laugh, Clint moved his hand to Dean's mouth, dragging his thumb across Dean's lips, the soft skin marred by bite marks. "I hurt you." For some reason, it was important to Clint, hearing Dean's answer.

"I thought it wouldn't go over well if I said 'fuck me harder, Clint' right in the middle of things." Opening his mouth, Dean sucked Clint's thumb in, swirling his tongue around the hard callous.

"Damn." The admission was so hot that Clint lost his train of thought for a few seconds. Hand slipped around to catch the back of Dean's head as Clint bent down.

"And your fetish, it seems, is handcuffs and an audience." That whisper from Dean undid any resolve he had. No one watching the grainy video would be able to see more than bodies moving together anyway. Then Dean took the initiative and kissed Clint first.

"I'm supposed to be the alpha here," Clint muttered as Dean gave him a second to breathe before he tangled his tongue into Clint's mouth. He'd admit he'd dreamed about Dean and the way he tasted, how he took control with a simple curl of the tongue and the lightest of pressure on the corner of Clint's lips. Changing the dynamic, Clint turned Dean's head so he could trail his mouth along Dean's jaw, blowing lightly into the ear when he got there.

"God, not going to take much for me." Dean moaned. "A good stiff breeze would do it."

"Shall we test that?" Clint asked. He grinned wickedly at the bound man, feeling entirely like the alpha male he was playing. "Think I can make you come without touching your cock?" Skimming down Dean's neck, he sucked in one of Dean's nipples as his lips closed over it, making Dean arch up off the bed. Twisting the other nipple between his finger and thumb, Clint pulled hard with his mouth and was rewarded with a curse and hips jacking upwards. He kept it up, switching sides, until Dean's breath was fast and quick, his body rolling as he rattled the handcuffs against the metal frame.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck …"was all Dean could seem to say and Clint enjoyed every second of Dean's torment.

"So, Dean," Clint drawled, letting his hands run up Dean's arms to where his wrists were constrained and back down again. "Eaten any good pie lately?"

Dean's eyes darkened, his lips parted, and he growled, low in his throat. "Don't start that."

"Alpha, remember?" Clint's smile was predatory; he knew exactly what he was doing. "I had the most amazing fried apple pie thing when I was in the Smokey Mountains. Apples with cinnamon and some spice mixture, inside a flaky crust, deep fried, coated in powdered sugar." Dean closed his eyes. "When you bite into one, still hot, the juice rolls down your chin, but you don't give a damn because it's that fucking good. You want to take the whole thing in your mouth and lick every bit of it off your fingers, one by one."

"Shit," Dean tried to free his hands, straining to grab Clint. "Stop that."

Clint laughed, low and sexy, as he ducked his head and blew across the leaking slit of Dean's engorged cock. "Oh, come on, Dean. I know what you like." Another breath made Dean let out a long moan. "You're so desperate for my mouth right now, you can't think of anything but my tongue running around that velvety head, sucking you in until you're all the way down my throat, all hot and wet …"

Muscles clenched, Dean caught his breath and then he was coming, splashing pearly white liquid on his stomach. Even as Dean's ragged groan continued, Clint's tongue started to lick Dean clean; the touch of Clint's tongue along the vein of Dean's cock brought another spurt, and Clint sucked him dry, taking the last thrusts.

"Holy hell." Tremors ran through Dean's body. "You are a real bastard, you know that?"

"I've heard that before. Feel better?" Clint stretched out beside Dean on the narrow bed and cradled Dean's chin with his fingers; the kiss was gentle, a graze of lips and dart of tongue. Dean's eyes opened as he tasted himself on Clint's tongue.

"What's that old saying? Been rode hard and put up wet. You, however, are either sporting a major boner or that's a gun in your pocket," Dean said as Clint's thumb rubbed against the end-of-the-day stubble on Dean's jaw. Then Dean bumped into Clint's cock, rubbing against the hard seam of his jeans, and Clint's vision went white at the edges with need.

"Damn." Almost unconsciously, he bent his knee and tilted towards Dean, rubbing his aching cock along Dean's hip. "To hell with it."

He stood up fast, fiddling with the music player, changing the song and settings. With efficient motions he slipped out of his jeans, leaving them in a puddle of denim on the floor. From the drawer in the bureau, he took out a key; it only took a moment to unlock Dean's wrists. The knot on his feet was pulled tight, but Clint managed to get the rope untied with a couple of tugs. Tossing a tube and a condom packet on the simple nightstand, he sat back down on the bed.

"The video's going to have a quick 10-15 minute meltdown then be back up and running. I can't risk any longer." He reached out for Dean, intending to cover his body with his own.

"That's enough." Somehow, Dean flipped them over in the narrow space; on top now, Dean began to work his way down Clint's chest, running his tongue over the muscles, teasing nipples until Clint exhaled Dean's name and then he moved on. As soon as Dean's knee bumped against Clint's cock, Clint ground himself on the hard thigh, pushing the coil in his gut tighter; he could feel Dean's cock against his stomach, nudging against him.

"How the hell can you be hard again?" Clint gasped out as Dean paused, mouth perilously close to its target.

"The magic of modern medicine. But I'm damn well going to pay for it later, I expect." The words sent puffs of breath down Clint's aching length, and he strained up to meet Dean's tongue.

"God, yes," Clint murmured as he felt the delicious pull of Dean's mouth, suddenly feverish to sink into that wet heat. "Take it all." He sighed, an outrush of air, as Dean's lips slid all the way down until his nose brushed Clint's skin. "Dean." Half-plea, half-supplication, Clint wanted. All of it. Dean's mouth, his tongue, the liquid glide up and down that tugged him higher and higher, closer to the cliff he was about to fall over.

When Dean sat up and reached across him, Clint's throat closed around the complaint that bubbled up. Instead, he watched as Dean liberally spread lube on his fingers and then lifted Clint's leg, hooking his knee over Dean's unwounded shoulder. "Alpha, my ass," Dean's eyes were dancing with humor mixed with a dark passion that sent a thrill right to the tip of Clint's cock. "Come to think of it, you've already had mine. How about I return the favor?"

Clint expected Dean to push in hard and fast, but instead he circled the tight muscle gently as he ran his tongue up Clint's cock, sucking lightly at the fluid already beading in the cleft. With an easy motion, he guided one finger in up to the knuckle, then back out, in again, a little further, repeating the action until he was all the way inside the tight passage. Keeping the easy glide going, he kissed his way up Clint's chest until he was face-to-face, bending Clint almost double.

"Sometimes," he told Clint, those green eyes so serious now, "the easiest way to break someone is to be kind to them. To give them what they want." The second finger joined the first, easy, slow movements that were driving Clint crazy. "By the time they realize what's happening, they're already willing to do anything for you."

Catching Dean's face with his hands, Clint gazed steadily at him. "I know. You never want to trust again." Kissing Dean was easy; conveying the shared knowledge of pain was different, but somehow they did it without words, just whispers of lips on lips, brushes of tongues, and the warmth of skin on skin. The rise was seemingly endless, higher, tighter, needier, more demanding, growing with the dance of their mouths to the rhythm of Dean's fingers, three now, spreading Clint open.

They were both breathless when the urgency finally kicked in, and Dean fumbled the foil packet open, rolling the condom down, shaky fingers stroking on sticky gel as Clint watched. Feeling Dean's cock pushing into him, forcing past the tightness, filling him until he was about to burst apart was too much. Clint's muscles clenched and Dean cursed; Clint lifted his hips and took Dean in even further.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck" Clint whispered the exact words Dean had chanted earlier. A smile played on his lips as he looked up at Dean. "Fuck me harder, Dean."

"Son of a bitch" Dean muttered beneath his breath as he pulled out and pushed back in. "You are going to fucking kill me." Then words were lost; Dean set a quick pace, Clint matching and meeting him, bodies moving together. Sitting up on his knees, Dean held Clint's legs to his chest, changing the angle of his entry, and Clint groaned, Dean's thrusts hitting the sweet spot that made Clint's cock jerk and tense. Dean responded, circling and coaxing the length from root to tip.

"Oh, god, oh, god, oh …" Clint thrust upwards, the coiled pressure exploding as came; pleasure crested and he spilled onto his stomach, blanking out everything but his orgasm rolling through him. Dean brought himself down on to his arms; Clint wrapped his legs around Dean's hips as Dean devoured Clint's mouth in a demanding kiss. They rode out Dean's last series of hard thrusts, and then he was coming inside Clint, sweating as his body climaxed for the last time.

"I am going to die." There was nowhere else to go on the bed, and Dean was so exhausted that he just flopped down onto Clint, mess and all, chest heaving. "Not that it wasn't fun or anything thing, but, damn, I am not 16 anymore."

"That was only four times in what? Five hours or so? Quit whining." Clint chuckled. He knew they should move, clean up before the video feed settled again, but he couldn't work up the effort to care at the moment.

"Shut up. You bit me. Twice. I get to bitch." He moved first and Clint had to follow suit; he grabbed a towel from the small wardrobe and tossed it to Dean, taking one for himself. "And you're going to like locking me up again. Kinky bastard." There was no heat behind Dean's words, just amused teasing.

"Lie on your side and face the wall. I can put the cuffs on but not lock them and loosen the ties on your feet. With a blanket, they won't know." Clint turned down the volume of the music and set the player for a morning alarm.

"Dude, we are not both going to sleep on that bed." Dean stretched back out, taking up the whole space.

"I am not sleeping on the floor. Alphas don't give up their bed. Betas share." Clint nudged him over, looping the unlocked cuffs to the headboard. "Besides, invade the space of the prisoner. It's part of the program."

"Yeah, I know you just like to be the big spoon. If you fall off the edge, don't blame me."

As Clint pulled up the blanket and draped his arm over Dean's waist, he put his cold feet against Dean's calves just to make him jump.

"So," Clint said into Dean's ear. "Tell me all the details of what you know about the murders."


	4. Chapter 4

"So the anomaly was a genetic virus?"

Carol balanced the cell phone between her ear and shoulder as she caught her hair back with a barrette, the edges still damp from the shower. Padding barefoot out into the suite, she headed down the hall, hoping the coffeemaker had kicked on like programmed; she needed a hit of caffeine to get going after the late night.

"No, Tony, I really don't think you need …"

Conversation broke off as she came to a stop, her eyes drawn to the man reaching into the cabinet for a glass. Sam had on a low rider pair of well-worn jeans and nothing else, his hair slicked back. Tiny drops of water beaded along his back, tumbling down from the wet tousled ends. With a crack, he opened the top to the orange juice, poured some, and all Carol could do was watch the play of muscles along his well-toned back, the shift of his shoulder blades. Thinking suspended, she simply stared, sure she was making an idiot out of herself, but unable to close her mouth.

"Carol?" Tony's voice was tinny, but clear. Sam heard it and turned, and, damn, the front view was better than the back. The man had a serious six pack, each muscle defined and taut, just crying out for someone to run their fingers into each groove before dipping lower to …

"Sorry. I didn't mean to bother you. Just getting some juice. You did say to help yourself." He gave her an easy grin.

Help herself? Oh, yeah, she could help herself. Indeed. Somehow she jerked her eyes away from his amazing pecs, up to his face, and she saw the humor there, the recognition of her reaction. So much for subtlety, she thought.

"Um, yeah, sure, whatever you need." Great. Now she was babbling like a schoolgirl.

"CAROL!" Tony was yelling.

"Yeah, I'm here. Don't shout." She snapped back to him, taking the phone into her hand. Honestly. The man could be so infuriating. If he wasn't so damn smart … and rich … and a nice guy … and a bad ass in the suit … she'd probably still like the son-of-a-bitch.

"Is that one of those Winchester male models?" Tony asked, and Carol could picture his eyebrows rising and that mischievous grin he got when he gave people grief. "Which one is so distracting?"

"There's yogurt in the fridge and some really good granola in the cabinet, locally made. Or order something if you want." She directed that to Sam.

"Why Carol, am I interrupting a morning after breakfast?" Tony's voice was sweet and way too nice.

"Thanks. Sounds good." Sam pulled open the cabinet door she pointed to and took down the bag. "You want a bowl?"

She nodded a yes to Sam's question and mouthed "Tony Stark."

"Why don't you just tell me what the test results said? I've got things to do today and I'd like to get moving on them." She spoke into the phone and as soon as she said it, she knew Tony would jump on that turn of phrase; she felt a flush begin moving up her neck, knowing Sam was listening to her side of the conversation.

"Or is that a certain hottie hunter you're going to do? Bet he can make a move …" Tony was just warming up, she knew.

"Tony. Quit being an ass." What little patience she had was running thin; Tony was never going to let this go. "Test. Results."

"Keep your panties on … you do have them on don't you?" Tony laughed. "I'm sending you the results now along with the names of a couple of scientists down there who are working on genetic anomalies. Might be crackpots, I don't know, but they're publishing on the 'were' gene."

"Were? As in werewolf?"

Sam eyes focused on her with a new intensity when he heard that. "The blood sample?" Sam asked, spooning up a bite of cereal.

"Tony's dug up some specialist on the 'were' gene for us to check out." Here gaze was caught again as Sam leaned his elbows on the counter, jeans dipping down until she could see the dimples in the small of his back. The thought of running her tongue into those indentations popped into her head, and she lost the thread of Tony's conversation in her ear.

"… tomorrow for a day or two. I'll get the adjoining suite unless you want to use the tried and true towel on the door method."

"What? No, Tony, we're fine. We don't need you here. We're investigating right now, no fighting to be done yet. I can call you if we …" Carol tried to forestall Stark.

"Oh, yes, I absolutely have to meet these two. First, Clint, now, you? Hey if they're going to screw around with my team, I get to check them out." Tony interrupted, talking right over her.

"Tony …" she tried to argue, but he would have none of it.

"Tomorrow. Got to meet with the SecNav anyway, so I can kill two birds with one stone. See you then."

And he was gone. Carol shut her eyes, wondering when her life got so messy; a super human team and now a sexy hunter distracting her.

"He's coming?" Sam asked.

"Oh, yeah. He has to stick his nose in. Heaven forbid that Tony Stark isn't at the center of things." She shook her head. "We should check out those scientists first thing, see what they have to say. With any luck, we'll have this figured out just in time to let him do the heavy lifting. Let me grab my tablet and we'll see what info he sent." She went back into her room to get the small computer; thinking about changing from her old gym shorts and USAF t-shirt – maybe putting on a bra at least – she finally shrugged and decided to let it go. After all, Sam had already seen her like this. As she came back into the kitchen, she grabbed two cups, pouring the coffee and passing one to Sam, leaving the sugar and creamer on the counter. Sitting down, she took the extra bowl he'd poured and added some milk, dipping her spoon in.

"Here's the data." She looked over the data that skimmed across the screen. "Viral DNA? A lot of similarities to the variola virus, but look at the genomes affected. Primal survival behaviors. Never seen one that fast acting though."

"Like chicken pox, but the werewolf version?" Carol was surprised Sam made the connection so quickly.

"Exactly. A virus, once introduced into the body, replicates its own DNA. Scientists recently discovered that there are a lot more of these viruses in human DNA than we knew."

"But there's not cure for viruses, right?" A shadow crossed Sam's face, and he took his bowl over to the sink, turning his back on Carol. Something was there, and Carol didn't' have to be psychic to read his change of emotions.

"No. Once a person has it, it's always in their system. But prevention? With this information, we could synthesize a preventative shot. The anti-werewolf vaccine." She couldn't imagine selling that to pediatricians. "Pretty damn complex, but between Bruce and me, I think we can figure it out."

"We should get going," Sam headed back to his bedroom, face closed off, body stiff. "I'll be ready in five."

She watched him go, wondering what she was missing; whoever had compiled that SHIELD file had obviously done a shitty job. Sam Winchester was even more an enigma to her that when she first met him.

….

Shoes and shirt would be nice, Dean thought, but he was happy that he had his jeans back on this morning; thankfully the men were too caught up in their discussion to notice that Clint left the handcuffs loose enough for him to slip out. He took the chance to look them over, the top men of the D. C. pack. One was young, maybe 24, brown hair cut short in the back with long bangs that hung over his forehead, one of those trendy haircuts you'd see on pop singers; he was lean like a runner with an infectious smile that belied a real violent streak, his arms marked with scars and old wounds, nose crooked from at least one bad break. The second was middle-aged, khaki pants and checked button down, glasses perched on his nose. Of the three he was the quietest, rubbing absently along his receding hairline. The final man had the look of a soldier; camouflage pants, black t-shirt stretching across his developed chest and arms, buzz cut and combat boots, he was the biggest of the three. From the minute they'd been called into the conference room, he knew something was wrong; after they entered, the tense discussion had stopped, but not the jockeying and glaring at each other.

"When did he say he'd be here?" Boy Band alpha asked; he was texting, his tennis shoes up on the table, feet crossed. So far, he'd been passive aggressive, pitting the other two against each other and sitting back to enjoy the results.

"Fifteen minutes ago." Camo alpha wasn't happy at all; he was futzing with a pen, clicking it, twirling it and tapping it on the table. Patience wasn't his long suite, Dean decided. "I'm not his fucking beta to dance at his whim. Who the hell does he think he is, keeping us waiting, calling us to heel?"

"You'd best not let him hear you say that." Balding alpha's voice was the calmest. He spoke as if he was lecturing students; too-mild mannered, he set off all of Dean's instincts. "He can eat you for breakfast."

"I've been around for too long to be scared of an ancient moldy Alpha would can't be bothered to leave his cave for centuries at a time." Camo alpha sneered. Dumbass, Dean thought, and that was sure to get him killed with this crowd.

"Age is relative, isn't it?" Boy band alpha smiled, showing his elongated canines; Dean knew that really old weres could change on command, not needing the full moon, which was still a week away. Okay, maybe the kid was the scariest of the batch.

"I'll show you age, punk." Slamming his chair back, Camo alpha stood, flexing his muscles and baring his teeth.

"Big hero with big muscles. Massive anger management issues." Boy Band stayed seated, looking cool and casual.

"Get up. Or are you too scared to go a round with me?" Camo growled, eyes changing. Dean shifted his stance, ready to react.

"Stop it," Baldy stood, voice angry. "This is neither the time nor place …."

"Shut the hell up for once," Camo loomed over Baldy, and waves of tension rolled off of him.

"Well, this doesn't bode well for our conversation today." The new voice spoke from his place in the doorway, and Dean turned.

Dark curly hair, trimmed goatee and olive skinned, the man was wore a very expensive suit, the kind that was made by personal tailors on Fleet Street for absurd amounts of money. He wore the blue pinstripes and red power tie with ease, a man accustomed to luxury.

"Sir, sorry sir." Camo alpha immediately sat back down, bending his head and revealing his neck. Baldy did the same, without words, but Boy Band sat still, face a sullen mask.

"Randolph. I see you haven't changed much. Still angry about Amsterdam?" He moved with a feral kind of grace, an animal's stride with just a hint of humanity. Dean had met the Vampire Alpha, and he knew instantly this was the Werewolf Alpha, deadly and powerful.

Stalking to the table, the Alpha kicked the upended chair legs from under Randolph, who sprang up and stared, still unwilling to bow before the stronger man.

"Silas," the Alpha spoke to the balding man. "Please go and welcome our guests. Bring them here and make sure no one bothers them. You have my permission to kill anyone who so much as blinks wrong."

Keeping his head and shoulders folded over in a bow, Silas's eyes never met the Alpha's as he exited the room.

"Gerald, you are dismissed. And do not make the mistake of challenging me. I will rip your throat out if you ever speak of yourself in that way again."

Chastised, Gerald left as well, but his shoulders were hard set, tense and clenched; Dean knew that the big man was not cowed by today's events.

"Last chance, Randolph." The threat caused chills to roll down Dean's spine; he had no doubt that the young alpha was in serious danger. "Just because I made you doesn't give you any special privilege. You forget your place."

"I'm your favorite son, father." The charming smile was bright and sure. "You'll never hurt …."

Claws ripped through his throat before he could finish his sentence, blood spurting from arterial spray; some splattered onto Dean's chest as shock flashed into the young man's eyes seconds before he folded down to the floor, red puddling around his dying body.

"I've eaten better sons that you, cocky bastard." Taking the time to lick his fingers, cleaning off the gore and blood, the Alpha adjusted his coat, seemingly oblivious to the stains soaking into the fine material. His blue eyes fell on Dean and Clint, the only two people left in the room. "Now, let's get ready for our visitors, shall we?"

"Look, dude, I don't know about you, but I'm not really dressed for a party. Maybe later?" Dean's mouth ran without thinking; he'd faced down gods and the devil himself, so what was an old werewolf in the grand scheme of things? Besides, mouthing off was a requirement for him.

"Dean Winchester." He gave a gravely laugh. "I have a feeling that you and I are going to get along famously. Anyone who ganks gods with regularity already has my admiration. Can't stand the sons of bitches."

"Ummm, thanks. I think." Dean shrugged.

Stepping in front of Clint, the Alpha looked him over from head to toe. "Clinton Barton, aka Hawkeye. Pleasure to meet you." He held out his hand; Clint shook it firmly. "Lucas Kaniedes."

"CEO of Volken Industries. Nice suit." Sassy Clint. Yeah, Dean liked Sassy Clint.

"I assume you're responsible for the tech problems they're having here? Some new Stark prototype, of course. Tony always did have the neatest toys." Kaniedes walked around the table.

"So, is this the time where you let us in on your plan to kill us in an overly complicated, but easily escapable trap?" Dean asked.

"Austin Powers? Good choice." Clint grinned at him.

"Now, boys, settle down, and be on your best behavior. I'd hate to have to serve you up for h'orderves."

The door opened, four people came in, and Dean's blood pressure shot up. Things just went from bad to worse.

"Ah, Kaniedes! You decorated for us." Crowley looked at the dead body, blood droplets painting the walls and table, and then he saw Dean and Clint. "Heckle, but no Jeckle? Where's the moose? And look, you brought your boy toy! Well, well, this is going to be a real party."

"Crowley." Dean made the man's name sound like a curse.

"Those are some lovely bruises you're got there, sport. Our favorite archer's got a kink, huh?"

"Give it a rest, demon," Hera said in her low purr of a voice. "Everyone needs a few love bites now and then. I know I certainly wouldn't mind a few marks from these two."

"As sexually frustrated as ever, eh? No wonder hubby likes passive little mice." Crowley shot back.

"Can we get to business? I have places to be, things to destroy." Kali took the chair Kaniedes pulled out for her, letting him slide it back in. "Dean." She nodded to him.

"I take it you've pissed off everyone in this room?" Clint asked.

"Nope. Never met her." Dean nodded to the blonde standing just inside the door, arms linked across her chest, an angry scowl on her beautiful face. She was built like a gymnast, toned muscular body in brown leather pants and green bustier. Seriously hot, a woman with curves, Dean was pretty damn sure she was going to be trouble.

"I have no time for this." Ire colored her words as she tapped a foot impatiently. "This is mother's problem, not mine. She's the one who has lost her bowl …. And her marbles."

"Artie, stop that. Don't be such a royal bitch for ten minutes." Hera settled herself on the edge of the table, long legs crossing. Crowley and Kaniedes took the time to look. "Sex would take the edge off, darling. Frustration is not good for the soul."

"Mother," Artemis sighed. "Enough with the sex talk. I'm here, aren't I?"

"The huntress is right," Kaniedes said. "We should get to business. I asked you here because it's time to hit this problem head on. I'm taking more control of my wolves; they should have never gotten involved in this in the first place, and I will stop that. Ariadne is doing the same with her people, or trying to. I doubt she has much luck, given her lack of trust and anger management issues."

"That's well and good, but not my problem." Crowley seemed less than interested.

"It will be all of our problems if this consolidation of power continues. We know gods and other powerful beings are disappearing, items are dropping off the grid." Kaniedes grinned towards Dean and Clint. "Our human friends over here are partially responsible for some of that, but I think it's more than the apocalypse and alien invasions. Someone is taking advantage of the upheaval; the Brotherhood of the Moon has been defunct for centuries, and suddenly now it's active again."

"The Brotherhood isn't just defunct; father wiped it off the face of the Earth. Literally." Despite her good looks, Artemis was on the verge of whining. Not attractive. "They aren't a threat any longer."

"Obviously, Zeus was a little premature. So like him." Hera rolled her eyes. "The Brotherhood are the original religious zealots; they worshipped the moon itself to begin with, but changed over the years, even worshipping us for a while. If they are back, they won't be stopped until they're all dead or they reach their goal. Lycanos is right. We need to deal with this."

"The problem is Zeus, as usual in his infinite stupidity, only created more problems when he tried to get rid of them. They went underground and found something or someone new to worship," Kaniedes explained. "They've been gathering power the whole time, and now they're making their move to sweep up the rest. The best thing for us to do is find these items and ensure they stay within the existing power structure. That's why I asked you here. I'm willing to sell the bowl to the highest bidder, one of you. At least then I know it's not going to fuel some unknown threat."

"You expect me to believe you'd get in bed with a god? I know how much you loathe Zeus." Artemis challenged.

"Obviously not bed, Miss Virgin-until-death," Crowley sarcastically commented. "Problem is, it's a nice plan, but I happen to know he doesn't have the bowl. None of us do at the moment."

"And we should trust you?" Hera said. "You're the King of Hell; double crossing is your specialty."

"Enough." Kali spoke, anger evident. She rose gracefully. "This is a waste of time."

"Wait!" Kaniedes growled and everyone looked at him as he walked over to Dean and Clint. With an impossibly tight grip, his hand circled Clint's elbow as his other hand pressed against his skin.

"What the hell?" Clint jumped and Dean could hear the hiss of compressed air. He started to take a swing his cuffed hands at the Alpha, but the man caught his arm easily and a sharp stinging pain lanced up his elbow and to his shoulder. As the Alpha pulled away, Dean looked at the red welt growing just above his wrist; the spot ached and a bump was obvious already.

"Nice thing about having money, as your friend Stark knows, is that you can get almost anything done by tossing enough of it around. I have just injected you with a time released capsule; in a few days, 72 hours to be exact, the outer skin will dissolve and the virus that carries the wolf genes will work its way into your system. You will be one of mine." He actually patted Clint on the cheek, some strange paternal urge at work. "If you find that bowl and return it to me before that time, I'll remove the capsule. No harm, no foul. Although, I have to say, I find myself hoping you aren't successful; I haven't been this excited about new sons in quite a few centuries."

"Son of a bitch." Dean spat the curse at him. "I'll kill you myself."

"Yes, you will make a wonderful addition to the family!" Kaniedes' smile got even wider. "Now, ladies and gentlemen, I assume you are all aware of the success rate of these two, so I think I'll set the price at 8 million to start. I'll give you some time to think about your bid, say 24 hours?"

"I have no desire to be part of this." Artemis declared. "Men are useless. My warriors can find my bow easily enough, and I will keep it for myself. Personally, I don't care what happens to mother's bowl." Turning, she stormed out of the room.

"Good lord, what a drama queen," Clint muttered to Dean; Hera cocked her head and winked at that.

"You'll be hearing from me soon, Lycanos," she said as she slid off the table, somehow making the simple act of standing up sexual foreplay. Of course, she made sure to run her hand over Dean's chest, pressing lightly on the finger shaped bruises near the waistband of his jeans before grinning wickedly at Clint. "Remember my offer, boys. There are things I can do for you … to you." With a wink to both, she left the room.

"Good lord, she could give a succubus lessons." Crowley said as he watched her go. "If he weren't such a sanctimonious bastard, I might feel sorry of Zeusy boy. But I don't." Without a further word, he was gone, disappeared from the room.

Kali had been still the whole time, her face impassive and set in a neutral expression. Now she nodded to Kaniedes and came to Dean, looking him in the eyes. "I hear that Samedi is looking for you boys. Something about a debt to pay?"

It clicked then, the reason why Kali would even be here, be interested in Hera's bowl. Bridgette had used the power of Hecate's pin to bring her lover Samedi back from purgatory; Kali had lost her lover, Baldur, the same night, when Lucifer had played god bowling at the Hotel Elysian Fields.

"Well, he can just get in line." Dean couldn't tell what the goddess of destruction was thinking, how she felt about the fact that he and Sam had saved her life that night. "There are a lot of people ahead of him."

The corner of her mouth lifted slightly, the only sign of any emotion. "I'll be in touch," she said, and then she too was gone, leaving them alone with Kaniedes.

"Those guys out there are just going to let us go?" Clint raised the question Dean was thinking. "They'll know we're onto them."

"They will do whatever I tell them to do, or they'll be dead. Sometimes, it's good to be the Alpha." Showing his razor-sharp teeth, Kaniedes headed for the door. "You can get your things and go. Don't worry; I'll find you."

For a second, they stood still, processing what had just happened; Dean took off the handcuffs, tucking them in his pocket, and rubbed the bump on his arm. Then he cocked his head to one side and looked at Clint.

"Hawkeye?"

Clint nodded, confused by the question.

"Stark? As in Tony Stark? As in Iron Man?"

Another nod.

"You're a fucking Avenger?"

"It's not a secret, Dean. Heliocopter, SHEILD …." Clint was grinning at him, and he felt like the world's biggest ass for not figuring it out. What the hell, he thought. He had a werewolf virus in his arm, he'd been the main attraction for last night's floor show, and he never realized Clint was a freakin' superhero.

"Well, damn. And I gave Sam grief for sleeping with a goddess. He's never going to let me forget it."


	5. Chapter 5

"Dr. Hyderson?" Sam directed the question at the black-haired woman in the lab coat. She was tall and slim, her startling light blue eyes framed by gold-wired glasses. She crinkled her nose in frustration, Sam an unwelcome distraction. But then she caught a glimpse of Carol – in her jeans and boots, Queen t-shirt, and bomber jacket – and she put down the pipette she was holding and turned on her stool.

"No, I'm his assistant, Tessa Black." She gave Carol a tentative smile. "He's in his office." She nodded to a door on the other side of the lab; through the opened blinds, they could see a bear-sized man in a red plaid shirt and jeans pacing back and forth. With a nod, Sam headed into the office, leaving Carol to talk to the young tech.

"Excuse me?" Sam tried to wait for an opportune moment to interrupt, but the man was muttering to himself, a constant stream of what sounded like a one-sided conversation. At Sam's words, he jerked to a stop.

"What? Who are you?" A messy red beard and hair that hadn't seen a comb in a few days only made his red rimmed eyes seem even wilder. "You're with them, aren't you?"

Sam made an instant decision; this man wasn't going to respond to well to authority, so F.B.I. or Homeland Security wouldn't be a good choice. "I'm Sam Winchester. I have questions about the werewolf virus you've discovered. It's a matter of life and death."

That got his attention all right – he settled a little and actually looked at Sam. "Life or death?"

"I think there's a werewolf pack here in D. C. and I need all the help I can to stop them. There have been at least four deaths already." Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Carol, her blonde head bent down towards the dark-haired tech. She was smiling at the other woman, leaning in, elbow resting on the table; she was definitely flirting, body language clearly inviting.

"Those sons of bitches are building an army, that's what they're doing." The scientist was suddenly in motion, moving to his desk and shoving towers of papers and books out of the way to find a small laptop. Then he froze and looked suspiciously at Sam. "Wait. Prove you're not one of them."

Without hesitation, Sam took out his silver knife, rolled up his sleeve, and sliced a shallow cut until red blood oozed. "Look," Sam said, "Anything you can tell us could help."

The doctor sat back in his chair, rubbing his forehead with his hands. "I wish I could tell you how to destroy them, but I can't. Six years and I couldn't even save my own son."

"He was killed?" That would explain the change; Hyderson had once been at the top of his field, but had spiraled downward, losing his position at a prestigious research school and his funding as well. Now, from what Sam could tell, the man cobbled together money from crackpots and a few anonymous donors.

Carol laughed at something; Tessa shifted on her stool and brushed her fingers over Carol's forearm. The look the dark-haired woman gave Carol was smoldering, and Sam suddenly wondered if he'd been reading Carol wrong the whole time. Maybe, she'd just been being friendly, not interested in him at all because she was certainly giving all the signals that she was open to the woman's overtures.

"No. He was bitten. Became one of them." The doctor's voice was rough and filled with pain. "I didn't believe it at first, the rational scientist, not until I saw him change for myself. I worked for three years trying to find a cure for him."

Carol brushed back a dangling strand of black hair, tucking it behind Tessa's ear; the tech's face flushed as Carol continued talking, paying no attention to anything else but her. With a wave of her hand, Tessa turned to her computer; Carol passed her a jump drive, fingers lingering as they touched.

"There is no cure," Sam said, turning back to the doctor. "But the disease could be prevented."

Hyderson nodded. "We've have success in beta testing, but then the funding ran out and who's going to volunteer to be the guinea pig human who gets injected with werewolf virus?"

That got Sam's complete attention. "You have a working vaccine?"

….

"Did you get anything useful from Hyderson?" Carol slid into the passenger seat of the Impala. She been glad when Sam had offered to drive; why take the mundane rental car when she could ride in style? "Tessa was a fount of information."

"Tessa?" Sam backed out of the parking spot, intent on watching traffic. "She seemed … friendly."

"Thinks the doctor is certifiable for believing in werewolves," Carol plugged her jump drive into an ISB port on her tablet. "But she also says the vaccine is real. Gave me the latest data to review."

"Yeah, and I bet she gave you her number too." Sam tried to sound like he was joking, and Carol just shrugged and smiled. As files appeared on her screen, her phone vibrated. "It's Clint," she said as she answered. "Hey …. yeah … we're not far …. Two o'clock it is … Sure." She offered the phone to Sam. "Dean wants to talk to you."

"Dean?" Sam juggled the phone to his ear as he drove, swerving slightly.

"I need you to call Bobby, see what you can find out about Lucas Kaniedes, CEO of Volkien Industries. We need to know his weaknesses." Dean didn't bother with the niceties, just jumped right in. That was so like him, and the words went a long way to soothing any concerns Sam had about his brother's condition. If he was barking orders, Dean was good.

"Glad you're okay." Sam wasn't above goosing his brother; after all, he'd spent some frantic worried hours, so he deserved some payback. "Thanks for looking for me, Sam. Sorry I worried you."

"You should be thanking me for giving you a free shot at the blonde." Dean gave back as good as he got. "Assuming you manned up and took it."

"Uh, not exactly." Sam glanced over at Carol; she was deep in the science of the vaccine, but he was sure she was listening. "How was your evening with Clint?" At that, Carol cut her eyes over, a little smirk at the corner of her mouth.

Dean just ignored the question. "We need to figure out why Crowley, Hera, Artemis, and Kali are in the market for the bowl. And how this Kaniedes fits in the picture." His voice was muffled for a minute, talking to Clint. "We'll see you in a few. If you get there first, order me a beer battered burger. With battered fries."

"A deep fried hamburger? Seriously? What, did you work up an appetite last night?" Sam couldn't resist the last jab.

"Don't wreck my baby because you're talking and driving, dude." Dean hung up, and Sam had to laugh. His brother's non-answer was a big yes to the question.

"I take it Dean's okay?" Carol was trying not to grin too widely, her amusement evident.

"Oh, he's fine." Sam wasn't sure how much Carol knew about his brother and Clint; the sparkle in her eyes said a lot on that matter, though. "Gave me a name – Lucas Kaniedes. I need to make some calls to see what I can dig up."

"Volkien?" All business after hearing the name, Carol went to work pulling up data. "I have a friend who might have some information on Kaniedes. Let me see if I can get in touch with him if he's in country."

Carol had interesting contacts; the police officer yesterday, now some mysterious international person. Sam wondered for a minute exactly what Carol had done before she was Ms. Marvel; he might know all about Iron Man … after all Tony Stark was all over the TV and news … but Carol's past was more of a secret. As Carol gave him directions for the rendezvous with Dean & Clint, Sam took out his phone and called Bobby; what little he knew about the woman sitting next to him would have to wait until later.

"Kaniedes?" Bobby practically shouted in his ear. "You boys don't do things by halves do you? He's the werewolf Alpha, Sam. Probably one of the most powerful monsters around. Ever heard the story of King Lycaon?"

"Wait, he's that guy? The one Zeus cursed?" Sam asked, his brain making quick connections. "Why would he be dealing with Hera or Artemis? He hated the gods."

"That's what scares me. If these guys are getting together, I'd hate to imagine what they're afraid of. Damn," Bobby said. "Look, let me see what I can dig up. I'll get back to you soon as I can."

"Sure thing, Bobby. Thanks," Sam started to hang up, but Bobby caught him.

"Hey, give Dean a break on the whole Clint thing, okay?" Bobby advised. "And do the same for yourself. She was a goddess, boy. Hell, you came out on the good end of the stick if you ask me. You two need to quit overthinking these things and enjoy the moment while you can."

"Yeah, and you know how that usually turns out," Sam thought of all of the people he'd cared for, the ones he'd let into his life, overwhelmed for a moment by a wave of regret. Relationships for him never ended well.

"You're an idjit, you know," Bobby said affectionately. He didn't disagree, Sam noticed, as he said goodbye and dropped the phone on the seat. After Pennsylvania, he was feeling pretty gun shy; full disclosure suddenly seemed like a really good idea before getting in bed with anyone else. Look at Carol; he thought he'd been getting all the right signals only to find out he might not be her type. His woman radar was definitely on the fritz. Maybe celibacy would be a good idea for a while. Especially if Hera and Artemis were around, and Kali? She probably still held them responsible for Baldur and Gabriel's death. Too many goddesses in the mix; best to just zip it up and stay safe.

"Thanks, Jack. I'll be watching for it." Carol was finishing her own conversation. "I'll be careful. You know me." She gave an easy laugh of someone talking to an old friend. Maybe even an old lover. And why would Sam give a damn about that, he wondered, after he'd just decided to put sex off limits for the time being? "Don't worry; I won't be volunteering to take the ring to Mordor. At least not this time." With one last thanks, she ended the call.

"From Jack's gut response, I have the feeling we are in some deep shit," Carol mused. "He's sending some info; you have any luck?"

"Bobby's on it." Sam hoped that Dean could fill in the blanks when they finally met up, and that he could keep his head on straight when it came to any romantic entanglements, especially with a certain blonde.

…

"Dude? You ordered a salad? Really?" Dean asked, incredulous at his brother's choice. "They have the best burgers in the D.C. area and you go veggie?"

"I seem to remember you deciding to be healthier a while back … something about a poker game and clogged arteries?" Sam looked at the burger the waitress was delivering to another table. Who deep fried a burger? And who wanted to eat one? Obviously Dean did.

"I am not going to pass up this one," Dean argued. "Plus, they have fried cheesecake for dessert."

Sam was glad to see his brother in a decent mood, despite the obvious bruises on his body. The short sleeve t-shirt Dean was wearing showed a lot of what had happened to him, from the circles around his wrists to the fingerprint marks on his biceps; Sam could tell from the way Dean gingerly sat in the chair and carefully held himself that there was more than what he could see. Damn wolves had beaten the shit out of him at least once. But he wasn't going to mention it, not unless Dean brought it up; Sam was smarter than that and had learned to let his brother tell him things in his own good time. Well, most of the time he did.

"So, Kaniedes is selling the bowl to the highest bidder," Carol tried to get the conversation back on track; she was tucked into the small booth seat next to Sam, their legs pressed together, seemingly unbothered by the closeness. In fact, she'd slid in next to Sam, leaving Clint and Dean to share the other bench. "But he doesn't have it? How is that going to work?"

Dean and Clint shared a glance, and Sam knew instantly they were hedging. "He's counting on us finding it for him," Clint said.

The waitress arrived to deliver their food. Clint had opted for a jalapeno cheddar burger and Carol had gone for the Smokey Mountain chicken sandwich; aside from the wilted leaf of lettuce on the burgers, Sam was the only one with anything green on his plate.

"And why would we help him out?" Carol asked the obvious question. There was that look again; something was definitely up, and Carol caught it too. "What aren't you tell us?"

"We have 72 hours … well 70 now … to find the bowl, or Dean and I get to grow fangs and do our best Lon Chaney impressions." Clint shrugged as he laid the situation out. "Some sort of time released capsule under the skin. If you ask me, he has no intention of letting us out of it. The man's got a thing about making new family members."

"We'll figure some way out of it," Dean picked up what was obviously an ongoing argument between the two of them.

"If not, we'll deal. Tony can probably work out something to keep us locked down at full-moon; otherwise we're normal, right?" Clint calmly worked on his burger and fries.

"Guys," Carol tried to interrupt, but Dean kept talking over her.

"Not that easy. If someone bitten by a really old were can control their change, imagine what happens if it comes from Kaniedes?" Dean shot back.

"Guys," Carol said, a little louder.

"Stark Industries has the best R & D in the world. I've seen Bruce and Carol come up with solutions in a far shorter time frame; they'll find a way to remove the capsules or cure the virus." Clint reached over and grabbed a fried pickle spear from Dean's plate.

"We'll be monsters, Clint. All the time." Dean's voice was angry, and Sam could imagine his brother's inner turmoil over the situation. He should probably help Carol tell them the news, but he was more interested in watching the dynamics between Dean and Clint, who were arguing like an old married couple. "You don't know what that means."

"Let's see, I work with a man who transforms into a green rage monster, a guy who shrinks and gets bigger, I've fought aliens, been a god's flying monkey … nah, I don't know anything about the strange and supernatural."

"Excuse me," Carol gave it one last try, then looked to Sam for help. He just smiled and let them continue.

"Damnit, Clint, it's not the same thing, and you know it." Dean's chin was set at a stubborn angle; Clint gave him a lopsided smile.

"Oh, come one, we could take over the pack, organize them, and use them to fight bad guys." Clint winked at Sam & Carol, clearly egging Dean on at this point. "Besides, I imagine the sex would be pretty damn kinky."

Dean sputtered and dropped his burger back on his plate, preparing to launch a reply.

"IF you two would stop the foreplay long enough, Carol might be able to get a word in edgewise about the vaccine." Sam forked up another bit of lettuce and popped it in his mouth, letting his words break the growing sexual tension between the two.

"Vaccine?" They both said at the same time; green and blue eyes lasered in on Carol, who adopted Sam's nonchalance, sitting back in the booth.

"Are you sure you want to hear about it, or would just prefer getting a room first?" She asked, taking the time to drag a fry through the puddle of ketchup she'd poured on her plate. Seemed she like fries with her ketchup. "Or we can wait here if you want to use the backseat for a bit."

Dean actually shut up, and he tried to shift away from Clint a little bit; Clint, however, was amused, his eyes sharing some secret joke with Dean. "All right, spill," he laughingly said to Carol.

As they ate, Carol filled the others in on their visit to the lab and the data they'd found. "I've already sent the info on to Bruce; he's looking over the doctor's research right now, but I can tell you, it looks very viable. Animal trials have over an 80% success rate. What we really need is a live sample to work from."

"What are we waiting for?" Dean was suddenly anxious to get going; he crumpled up his napkin. "We can break in the lab and …"

"Actually, I imagine Carol could just make a phone call, and Tessa would give it to her," Sam said; Carol blinked at him, but then she nodded.

"Let me give it a try," She slid off the bench and headed out of the restaurant to make the call. Clint watched her go then caught Sam's eye.

"What was that all about?" he asked.

"Oh, Carol made a friend. The cute lab tech slipped her phone number in with the data." Sam answered.

"Really? Carol usually prefers banging heads to talking," Clint said, pensive; the man's blue-green eyes saw too much, Sam thought. Feigning indifference, Sam kept poking at the remains of the salad, eyes down.

"I wouldn't have pegged her as a …" Dean paused, searching for the right word, but he cut off quickly as Carol came back within earshot.

"Sounds great. See you then." Tone light, Carol ended the conversation and tucked her phone away as she sat down.

"Tessa was more than happy to have a cup of coffee in … "she glanced back at her phone "… about an hour. What?" The last was directed at Clint, who was pretty much staring at her from across the table.

"Wait. Are you telling me you didn't hit her or threaten her? I'm supposed to believe you won her over with your wiles?" He narrowed his eyes. "Where is Carol, and what have you done with her?"

"I am quite capable of being charming when I want to be," she protested. "And I do know how to flirt." She looked to Sam for help, but he held up his hands, unwilling to get involved in that discussion.

A chime sounded from Clint's phone; he pulled it out and read the message. "Ah, looks like we've got a lead on some possible locations for the bowl. With that teapot at the murder scene, I set Jarvis to look for museum items or antiques at auction that might be connected to powerful women. Four possible hits in the area here, all involving known power brokers and D.C. families; three more in New York. Coulson says he'll take the NYC folks for us."

"Good. That gives us a starting point." Dean was happier when he had something concrete to do. "You guys take the sexy lab tech and liquor her up. We'll hit the list and see if we can get a lead on Hera's toy. Don't come back without the vaccine."

"Hey, I'm not going to seduce her or anything," Carol protested, but no one was listening; Clint dropped money on the table and stood up while Sam bumped Carol out of the booth so he could leave.

"Yeah, whatever. Sammy's pretty good at waiting in the car." Dean winked at his brother, and Sam punched him in the shoulder to get him to shut up.

"He's just giving you grief," Sam explained to Carol.

"Oh, it is on. I live with Tony Stark and Clint Barton. You don't know what you've started, Deano."

…..

Sam did end up waiting in the car, still shocked that Dean had let them drive off in the Impala; Dean had bought the argument that they couldn't take the truck Clint was driving because Kaniedes probably had it under surveillance and didn't need to know about the possible vaccine. Sam thought it was pretty lame, considering Hyderson had been publishing his findings; he'd bet anything that Kaniedes was perfectly aware of the doctor's research. In fact, it wouldn't surprise Sam if Volkien was even funding it. Keep your enemies close, as the old saying goes.

Seemingly bemused by the whole situation, Carol had taken a few minutes to brush her hair and put on a little lipstick before she headed into the Starbuck's to meet Tessa. There was something endearing about her jitteriness and the slight blush on her face; she stuttered and tried to explain that this was just to get the information, and Sam wondered if Clint's comments at the diner had been right on the mark. Come to think of it, she'd been a little off her game this morning at breakfast as well as yesterday at times. Maybe she was just out of practice at flirting. Well, better now than never to get back in the swing of things.

He could see them at the small iron table by the window as he played with the tablet Carol had passed over to him. Okay, she had really cool tech, nothing like the heavy ancient laptop that he had, the one that froze if he opened too many windows and had porn pop-ups clogging the screen. He touched the screen and moved quickly through the searches. With a tap, he unmuted the sound and watched a short video from the Smithsonian about items in their collection relating to John Adams – nothing about the bowl there – and then another one about Dolly Madison's china. Frustrated, he started looking for an Adams family genealogy and got a long list of genealogy software and websites that claimed to help find your lost family.

"What I need is to find out what happened to Adams' daughters, trace them down to today," he grumbled to the screen.

"May I help you search?" A male voice said.

Juggling the tablet, Sam looked around outside; no one was there. "Excuse me?"

"Mr. Stark has programmed me to help any way possible, Mr. Winchester. What exactly do you wish to locate."

"Um, you're the computer?" Sam managed to ask.

"You may call me Jarvis."

Well, hell. Why not? It wasn't like he hadn't seen weirder things in his life. "All right, Jarvis, what I want is to find the descendants of John and Abigail Adams, sticking with the female line. I'm specifically looking for any of them who went on to be matriarchs of powerful families. Also any hints of family heirlooms or items passed down." He felt silly talking to the screen, but, hey, he was a talking car once, so this wasn't that bad.

"I assume this is in correlation with Agent Barton's earlier search?" Jarvis politely asked. "If so, I can also prepare a cross-reference between the results as I work."

"Sounds good to me." Sam said, when the door opened and Carol got in. She looked at him odd. "Jarvis," he explained, sounding even lame to his own ears. "That was fast."

"She brought the samples with her, pretty eager to get outside validation. Hyderson's thought of as a crazy; if a secondary lab verifies the findings, the scientific community is much more likely to take the work seriously." Carol showed him the three vials she'd tucked into her jacket pocket. "All she wants is some credit."

"And a date?" Sam pointedly asked, and Carol's cheeks reddened, which he found incredibly hot.

"She brought up dinner and a movie tonight; too bad I'm busy washing my hair." Wrapping the vials, Carol carefully tucked them in a carrier.

"Really? You two were cute together," Sam started the car, laying the tablet on the seat between them.

"Wait. You thought I was interested?" Carol turned in her seat. "Um, no. She's not my type. I mean, she's got the wrong equipment for me. "

"Looked pretty cozy to me." Sam got a goofy grin on his face at her admission; despite the fact he'd already declared a moratorium on dating, the knowledge that Carol liked guys made him feel better.

"Damn it, Sam, I am a confident heterosexual, okay?" She put her arm on the back of the seat and leaned towards him. "I like smart guys with six pack abs, long hair, tattoos, a muscle car, and a penchant for plaid."

She closed the distance and kissed him, strong and sure, a brash press of lips against lips, hair cascading down onto Sam's cheek as she tilted her head to a better angle. He caught the tendrils with his fingers, tugging them as he cupped her face with his hand, taking the kiss and returning it, sucking on her lower lip. She pulled away, let out her breath, and sat back on her side of the seat.

"I think that clears things up, don't you?" Carol asked, arousal in her eyes.

"Perfectly." Sam put the car in reverse and pulled out into traffic.

…

_She watched them go through the window, the cup cradled in her hands as she drank the last of the wonderful liquid; even tepid, the sweet brown nectar was a revelation amidst the noisiness of this brave new world. Air blew across her calves, so lovely and free beneath the hem of her skirt, and she could smell the spices they used to make the drinks, the pungent odor of pots brewing. Trapped in nothingness for so long with only her burning desire of revenge as company, she wanted to revel in simply being again – being alive, being free, being strong – but there was so much to accomplish. Finally, after all this time, she could do more than imagine the feel of her enemies beneath her hands; soon, their blood would be flowing through her fingers as she turned their own power back upon them. She could enjoy the taste of food again, find a handsome young man – the one behind the counter would certainly do – to slake her lust; she had taken the time to find this body, one able to handle her essence without burning up too quickly. Even the woman herself wasn't aware of her heritage, the power bequeathed by the father she'd never known. Half-god, this Tessa had been a wonderful choice of a vessel to fulfill her goals._

_Then the blonde had walked in, blinding aura preceding her, an alien presence so formidable that she almost jumped bodies right there, in full view of everyone. That was a vessel worthy of her triumphant return. And the man in the conveyance, with echoes of potent forces clinging to him apparent even from a distance, was far too fascinating to let slip through her clutches. Like the randomness of chaos, new elements had been introduced, changing the game in her favor. With such temptations dangling before her, she could enjoy the chase; it was, after all, her favorite part. It had been a long time she she'd tasted the bliss of destruction on her tongue, and she was hungry, so very hungry. _

_Standing, she threw a suggestive smile at the handsome worker; the evening was young, and a little fresh blood was on the menu._


	6. Chapter 6

"Holy hell." Tony's mouth wasn't hanging open, but he was staring as he entered the living room of the suite. "Who called central casting for male models?"

Carol sighed. Tony never did like waiting; curiosity, cat, and all that. "Why am I not surprised to see you?"

"Tony Stark," the dark-haired man ignored her and gave a nod to Sam. "Sam! Nice to finally put a name to the abs … I mean face." Then he eyed Dean, seated on the couch. "And you must be Dean. Okay, Legolas, I give. No more Gimli jokes. He's more a Strider-type." God, Carol thought, Tony was at his most charming, eyes sparkling as his gaze travelled up and down Sam, taking a long inventory of the jeans, t-shirt, plaid shirt, and long hair; he stared brazenly at both men, and his shit-eating grin just got wider.

Neither one replied; Tony, suddenly aware of the height difference, stepped away from Sam, putting Carol between them. Then he realized he was just a touch shorter than Carol as well; he cocked his head as he measured himself and shrugged. "Okay," he said. "I wouldn't trust me either."

"I thought you weren't coming until tomorrow?" Clint asked. Having Clint and Tony in the same room was like pouring gasoline on a fire; when they got going, they could rip anyone to shreds with their wit. And from what she'd seen of Dean, now the posturing would be times three.

"Saw the list you had Jarvis collate. Thought it would be easier to get access to Bunny if I came personally." Tony had poured himself a drink from the bar; he walked over to the couch and sat down.

"Bunny?" Sam asked, still standing in the same spot.

"Bridget Abigail Stephens Bridington, wife of the esteemed senator from Connecticut. She's an … old friend." Tony smirked; god, the man had slept with everyone. "Hubby's snooty as hell, with a stick up his ass about 'the right type' of people. Bunny's a lot more receptive."

"You had sex with her." Carol stated the obvious; Sam's eyebrows lifted, but otherwise he stayed silent.

"I'd say I was drunk at the time, but, hell, I'm almost always drunk, so that's no excuse. In her defense, she donates a good portion of her money to help fund school for girls in Afghanistan." Tony waved it away. "Bunny is just delighted to hear I'm in town and would love to have a drink with me later to talk about a family heirloom I'm in the market to acquire. And, trust me, she won't mind when she sees the extras."

"Ah, Tony, you know the most interesting people," Clint teased. "Introduced me one to time to these twins contortionists from Cirque du Soleil …"

"Oh, before I forget, here." Tony pulled out a small case and tossed it to Carol. "Jolly Green sent these. He's made a few changes, says the success rate should be about 86% now. Atomized and in pen form for effective and quick dosage. There's enough for everyone."

Inside were a row of medical delivery pens, neatly held in place by elastic bands. Carol took one out and turned it over in her hand. "That's about as good as we're going to get on short notice. Who wants to go first?"

"Toss me two," Clint reached out his hand. "Arm or leg?"

"Drop 'em and grip 'em boys. Got to go in the thigh." Tony grinned. "Stung like hell when I took mine, but I'll take that over fangs any day. I mean, fur and eating hearts? Vampires are so much more in vogue." Without hesitation, Clint unbuckled his jeans, raising enough to slip them down; with a click of plastic and a jab, he injected the vaccine in the muscle. Dean was just as quick; he favored briefs, black ones, Carol noticed because she did have a pretty healthy libido and Dean was almost princess pretty if you liked your damsels hard edged and able to take down the worst of the monsters.

Usually, Carol wouldn't have flinched about taking off her jeans – she had on sensible white underwear at the moment, and she did live in a tower with a bunch of exhibitionist men who wandered around in skintight suits. But she was very aware of Sam standing next to her; she tried not to look at Sam, to watch as the denim shimmied down, to notice that he liked briefs as well, grey ones, and she most definitely didn't look at the noticeable bulge in the front. Nope. Not at all. She very calmly bared her ass and shot the vaccine into her leg fast enough that Sam wouldn't see the elastic of her underwear riding up as she bent to inject herself or the catch of her jeans on her hips as she pulled them back up.

"Well, now, suddenly I'm thinking strip club; I can't imagine why!" Tony announced; Clint threw a pillow at him from the couch. "What?"

"The point, metal head, was to talk to Bunny. Don't get distracted." Clint absently rubbed his leg; Carol felt the burn as the sharp pain lingered and warmth spread up her leg and into her torso. Not that she wasn't already hot from that damn image of Sam's underwear. Underwear, woman, she chided herself. It was nothing she hadn't seen in a catalogue before. Just underwear and really toned thighs and …

"Excuse me for getting distracted by some very fine ass and a very nice …" Tony said.

"Tony." Carol used her sharpest voice to stop Tony from completing that thought, completely aware she'd just been thinking of that exact body part. "Bunny?"

"You need to get laid, Carol. Look at Clint, he's the most relaxed I've seen him in …. Well, damn Clint I've never seen you relaxed before." Tony goaded both of them.

"First time for everything," Clint laughed. "Bunny?"

"Fine. When you're ready, we can go." Tony pouted.

"Is he always like this?" Dean asked Clint.

"Oh, no. This is good behavior reserved for special guests. He likes you," Carol said. Neither of the two hunters looked like they believed her.

…..

The bar was just the kind that Dean hated the most – pretentious and old-fashioned, filled with men in power suits and women in jeans that cost more than he could hustle in a couple months of playing pool. The kind of place movers and shakers hung out, under the table deals taking place right next to men wining and dining the next, younger model of a trophy wife. As much as he wouldn't admit it, part of his dislike was the way he felt out of place, too easy to be picked out of the crowd. At least Clint was there, slouching in his chair in his jeans and black tee, looking dangerous and just as much at odds with everyone else; his mouth was on overdrive, smart alec comments flying as he nursed a glass of single malt scotch. Okay, that was one good thing about the whole situation; the arrogant bastard Stark was buying, and the whiskey was head and shoulders above what he usually drank, so, hell, he was going to drink as much as he could on the rich guy's dime.

"Could she have picked a more stuffy and uptight place?" Carol asked; she'd turned her chair around and straddled the back, resting her elbows on the table just to annoy the other patrons, nursing a glass of sweet tea. "Hello? Peasants here. We don't mix well with the nobility."

Sam had opted for beer in a bottle, some craft label that the waiter had suggested; Dean started a running tally of the little glances between them, the bumps and accidental touches. His brother definitely had a shot with the very sexy blonde. Very sexy with a really nice ass. Not that he'd noticed, but there was a little blue stripe on the top of her underwear. Of course, the best part had been watching Sam not watching Carol who was not watching Sam. Scary, though. The woman could shoot laser beams or something out of her hands, or so Clint kept telling him. Dean wasn't entirely sure he bought that. Then again, he'd seen weirder stuff.

"It's Bunny's choice, and since I'm springing you four on her, I think we should at least do it on her turf." Tony replied. "You do want to get some answers I assume?"

The interviews had gone nowhere; he and Clint had only managed to speak to one of the people on their list. Gaining access to private estates had turned out to be very difficult. Agatha McTavish had agreed to see them because her husband worked on the Armed Services Committee, and she recognized Clint's SHIELD credentials, but she didn't even know she was a member of the Adams' family, much less ever heard about the bowl. They had a morning appointment with the third woman, Margaret Davenport, only after Clint had put a call into Coulson to pull some strings for them. At least they had the vaccine now and the hope that it would protect them. Maybe. Dean didn't really trust in that either.

"Hey, Van Helsing. Do you want another?" Stark was talking directly to him, and Dean jerked his attention back to the task at hand. The young male waiter was waiting for his answer.

"Yeah, make it a double. And can I see a menu? Kind of hungry here." May as well spend the man's money on an overpriced burger. Probably some sissy thing with truffles or veggie patties. No, a steak. Nice big one. With a baked potato the size of Montana. Yeah. That was the ticket.

"They make a mean ribeye here," Tony offered, then waggled his eyebrows at Dean. "You look like a red meat man to me. What does the moose graze on? I'm sure there's a salad somewhere. Can't imagine how anyone who eats lettuce can get that big though."

"Bruce likes salads." Clint calmly took a sip of his drink and deliberately bumped Dean's thigh under the table. "And he gets pretty big."

"Banner doesn't count," Tony immediately argued back. The man seemed to love nothing more than hearing himself talk; he'd argued over nothing. "Oh, wait, Sam didn't get exposed to radiation or fall into a vat of toxic waste or anything, did he?"

"He just ate his Wheaties growing up." Clint offered, winking at Dean, his knee moving now along the seam of Dean's jeans.

"Oops, that me," Tony pulled something that looked like a phone from his pocket, but it opened into a larger touch screen that he manipulated with his fingers. "That's Bunny. She's running late. I'm shocked. Just shocked. The woman will be late to the zombie apocalypse; nah, she'll be the lead zombie chasing me down."

"Zombie Tony. I'd hardly notice the difference." Carol zinged that one past Tony's head.

"Actually, zombies aren't dumb. They still have their personalities, just an uncontrollable hunger for human flesh." Dean offered, voice loud enough to carry to the table next to them and earn him some strange looks. "Fairly easy to kill, though. Shotguns work, but chain saws are better."

"I dare you to lean over and ask that guy how much for the women." Tony nudged Clint.

"You going to order four whole fried chickens? Or dry white toast." Clint returned.

"Damn good music in that flick." Tony eyes slid past Carol to Sam, and he gave a conspiratorial smile to Clint and Dean. "Oh, shotguns remind me. Here." He tossed a small bottle to Dean. "Mix in a couple drops with a gallon of water and you've got the equivalent of werewolf holy water. If you want a big bang, toss it then add a silver bullet. I've also got some silver nitrate pellets back in my luggage you can add to shotgun shells to cause more damage."

"Tony, you really know how to charm a date," Clint laughed; he'd let his hand fall onto Dean's thigh only partially hidden under the table, and Tony could see the way Clint's thumb was circling. God, Dean thought, Clint was laying claim to him to warn Tony off. When the hell did his sex life get so strange?

"Well, thanks Q. Got any other gadgets hidden in that suit?" Dean had to mouth off; really, Tony Stark was just asking for sass.

"Oh, god, no, don't start that." Carol groaned. "Not that."

Tony's eyes sparkled. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Six hours, Tony. Six hours of arguing about who was the best Bond and which was the best movie. How could you forget? The stakeout from hell. I promised myself never again." Carol flicked a drop of water from her glass at the billionaire.

"All you had to do was agree with me and it would have been over. Sean Connery was THE only Bond. And _Goldfinger _is the quintessential Bond movie." Tony said, all too glad to open up the conversation again.

"Um, I'll give you Connery, but, dude, Daniela Bianchi? Sorry, but _From Russia with Love_ is it." Dean argued because, well, blonde girl in a nightgown with a ribbon around her neck like a freakin' present. On a train.

"Hey, no love for Roger Moore? _The Spy who Loved Me_? _Live and Let Die_?" Clint lazed back in his chair, only too willing to throw fuel on the fire.

"You can't be serious. Three words. _Diamonds are Forever_." Dean dismissed the claim; how could Clint like Roger Moore?

"I'm with Eyelashes on this one. Those were too silly to be good films." Tony came back. "But really. _Goldfinger_ wins. Odd Jobs. 'I expect you to die, Mr. Bond.' Pussy Galore."

"Yeah, good name, but not the best Bond girl," Clint said, not even caring if anyone noticed his hand grazing the inside of Dean's leg. Dean shifted in his seat as his cock stirred at the light touch; damn him, Clint was enjoying getting Dean hard in front of his friends. The man had a fetish, that's for sure. "That's Jane Seymour."

"Wait, wait. Actress or character?" Tony asked, leaning forward and putting his elbows on the table; he had a much better view from there of Clint's hand. "Very different things. I'll go for Halle Berry and Pussy Galore. I mean, her name is Pussy Galore."

"You just like saying that," Carol protested. "And very loudly, might I add." Dean saw the look she exchanged with Sam; they were both pretty exasperated by the whole conversation.

"Jane Seymour, and I'll have to agree on Pussy Galore." Clint winked at Carol.

"I'll take _Tomorrow Never Dies_. Terri Hatcher and Wai Lin." Dean took the new drink the waiter was handing to him, passing off his empty glass and grabbing a menu.

"Oh, damn. Michelle Yeoh. I'd forgotten about her. Kick ass. Yeah. I'm changing my vote." Tony saluted Dean with his glass, and Dean felt absurdly successful to get that much.

"Okay, boys, which Bond would you sleep with? For me, it would be Timothy Dalton." If Carol expected outrage, she was sadly mistaken. Her question only made Clint laugh.

"Oh, I would so tap Connery's Bond's ass." Tony took a big swig of whiskey. "Dean?"

"Sorry, dude, but you'd have to share." Dean answered, and suddenly he was the fly talking to the spider as Tony's gaze turned sexy, as if he was actually considering the idea. Uncomfortable, Dean still met Tony's eyes squarely; Clint's hand squeezed his thigh. "I'll arm wrestle you for him."

That made Tony laugh, and the moment was gone as the man looked as his team mate. "Damn, Clint, I like him. Bet he gives you a run for your money. Good. Someone needs to kick your ass on occasion."

"Ha, ha, Tony. Very funny. If I'm looking for someone to kick my ass, I'll take Daniel Craig's Bond, thank you very much. _Skyfall_? Wow."

"Haven't seen that one." Dean said. "Caught _Casino Royale_ on TV, but not the others."

"What? Okay, when this is done, fangs or no fangs, we're going to a theater to see the flick. You'll love it. I'll even spring for popcorn and milk duds." Clint leaned in, his eyes promising more, hands and lips and heat in the dark. Years ago, Dean had done that, taken the girl of the moment to see the latest, only wanting to get a hand in her jeans. But it had been a long time since he'd steamed up a back row. For a split second, he wasn't sure if Clint was going to slide his hand the rest of the way up to where Dean's cock was aching already, or if he was going to lean over and kiss him.

"Dial that down from eleven, would you?" Tony's voice cut in. "Making me queasy over here. Plus, Bunny's just arrived."

The woman was nothing like Dean expected of a woman called Bunny – no power suit, no perfectly coiffed bleached hair, no thousand dollar purse with a miniature dog. Instead, she was wearing Levi's with a plain black Gap tee under a light cotton cardigan, very tight over her perky breasts. Long auburn hair was smooth and glossy over her shoulders; she looked for the world like she was in her late twenties, even though Dean knew she was approaching forty.

"Tony! How delightful of you to call. Things are so boring right now. Matt is out of town and the children are with his mother, may she die an early death." A quick hug and kiss on the cheek for Tony, and she was standing in front of the table, surveying all of them. "Oh, lovely! It's a party. Tony Stark, you always did have the best ideas."

"Can you bring a dirty Tanqueray martini for the lady?" Tony called to the waiter as he pulled over a chair. "Now normally you know I love nothing better than a party, but some of my friends are a little antsy, so let's get business out of the way. Then you can ply you're wiles upon this hapless but quite hot group."

Sam looked positively terrified at that pronouncement, and Dean was none too happy either. Although, he did love the way Sam could face down the bloodiest of monster, but one well-endowed socialite could make him run for the hills.

"Fast and sweet, that's how I like it," the woman laughed. "I did some checking after you called; the Monster-in-law was being such a bitch this summer that I gave a large donation of Adams' artifacts under my maiden name. She was livid, of course, to be reminded that I'm an Adams, but she has to come to the opening. Wouldn't look good if she snubbed me in public." She took her martini and overtly raked her eyes over the waiter's body as he picked up the empties. "You're new here, love. What's your name?"

He blushed and stammered, "Carl," before he beat a hasty retreat, escaping.

"Anyway," Bunny said, reveling in the effect she'd had on the young man, "I vaguely remember some old pottery and bowls in the batch; it's all boxed up at the house and ready to go to the Smithsonian next week in fact. Let's see, why don't we have a nice dinner then adjourn to my place for the evening. You can look through the mess to your heart's content, and I'll crack open some of Matt's best scotch, the kind I know you love, Tony." She smiled indulgently at Carol. "You, too, dear. I don't discriminate based upon gender."

Dean couldn't decide which to laugh at – Carol's face or Sam's open mouth; Clint simply took a picture of the two of them and tilted the screen so Dean could see the masterpiece. Classic blackmail, indeed.

"Um, yes, well, thank you for that, but we have a couple other interviews to conduct, so I'll have to take a rain check." A hasty spill of words and a pleading look at Tony; Carol scooted a little closer to Sam.

"Yeah, we do have a lot to do. I think Dean and Clint can handle looking through some boxes." Sam got his mouth working first, beating Dean to the punch.

"Sam," Dean's voice held a wealth of warning, but Sam, damn him, wasn't worried. They couldn't both back out; now Dean was stuck with Lady Warbucks.

"Oh, well, more for us, lads," Bunny waved over the waiter. "Now, who's hungry? I have a feeling I'm going to need energy."

…

_Dark red and thick, the liquid dribbled down the pale hand and onto the glass as she traced the outline of the magical circle, drawing in her will and channeling the power through the draining life blood. Five points, five objects – four glasses and a bottle – splatters coating them all, completing the pentagram. The energy pulsed in her hands, no, Tessa's hands; daddy had magic of his own and the poor little girl had a well of talent untapped, making her first time back at work easy, an orgasmic rush of chaos spilling out into this world. _

_A simple spell, linking the past with the person, stirring up things repressed, thinning the veil between real and not. Just the first ripples of the effects were like the most fragrant of perfumes, filling the air with potential violence and the promise of death._

_She'd missed this so much, holding lives in her hand. Dropping the arm of the now lifeless waiter … Carl, she remembered … she broke the circle and set the spell free, winging out into the night towards her targets. She smiled._

…

"Well, that was an awkward evening." Sam jammed his hands in his pockets; a slight chill came with sundown and a breeze had kicked up on the city streets. He and Carol had elected to walk back to the hotel since Dean pitched a 'I need my baby if I'm going to do this' fit. "Not exactly used to talking about orgies over dinner."

"Oh, you get used to it when you're friends with Tony. There's no telling what he or Clint or Thor will come up with." Carol was hunched into her jacket, hair drifting across her face as they passed by a large office building, mostly empty at this hour of the evening. "But I'm happy to avoid the visit to Bunny's house."

"If it gets us the bowl, Dean will just have to take one for the team," Sam laughed, thinking about how slowly Dean was probably driving right now; his mind jumped ahead to the hotel room, no one there but the beautiful woman walking next to him. Despite his earlier decision to not get involved, his body was running on its own agenda.

"That's why we keep Tony around." Carol's cheeks were rosy, and Sam imagined they'd be cool to the touch if he let his fingers graze her face; she was smiling at him when he saw the figure in front of them, standing on the corner of the next cross street, just under a street light. He blinked, clearing his eyes, but she was still there, dark hair unmoving, her shirt spattered with the blood from the gunshot wound.

"What the hell?" By the time he uttered the phrase, she was in front of him, reaching, hand settling on Sam's arm; a searing pain burned him and he tried to jerk away, but her fingers were talons that buried their way into his flesh with agonizing sharpness.

"Sam!" Carol grabbed the woman and pulled her away, pushing her back a few steps. A low rumble issued from the woman's throat, rising quickly to a howl; hands grabbed again, latching onto Sam. Lovely face was contorted with rage, eyes like an animal, teeth elongated. Sam grunted as he felt the touch through his clothes, searching with his free hand for the gun tucked in his belt. This time, Carol shoved with more strength, and the attacker went flying across the street, smashing face first down into a parked car; she simply peeled herself off the metal and stood up, staring at them. Two pedestrians skittered backwards, away from the scene. "What is she?"

"Not a ghost, but she's …she's dead." He was rattled, the memory of the feel of the trigger in his hand, the look of trust in her eyes that faded to glassy nothing. "Not a zombie. Zombies don't burn when they touch."

"Maybe we should get off the street." Carol's voice sounded strained as she stared over Sam's shoulder; with a quick glance, he saw a Middle Eastern man striding towards them, body riddled with bullet holes, earning startled glances from the other people on the street. They sped up, heading towards the hotel, just a few blocks ahead, cutting across the green space of the National Mall, followed the whole way; as they approached the World War II Memorial, another woman blocked their path, black hair, short, blood soaking her t shirt under her leather jacket. Rushing them, the three moved with preternatural speed, herding Sam and Carol into the circle of the white columns.

"Water," Sam yanked Carol towards the pool and fountains, taking her with him as he jumped the edge; cold splashed as she sank down to her thighs. "Water can cancel magic."

"Sam." One of the women said. "You can't stay in there forever. It's time to face what you've done."

"You're dead, Ruby." Sam pushed Carol behind him, drawing his gun. He knew he had silver bullets but had no idea if they would make any difference to these monsters. "And if you were a ghost, you wouldn't be Ruby, would you?"

"Does it really matter?" Ruby asked. "I'm here and I have a score to settle. You held me Sam while Dean killed me. After all we were to each other."

"Sam," Carol said. "There's more behind us." As Carol kept her eyes forward, Sam saw two more men, recognizing the vampiric smile of Gordon Walker, the other unknown to him.

"Can't be the rising of the witnesses," Sam said, thinking out loud.

"Never were that smart, Sam," Gordon drawled behind him. "You can't throw forces out of balance and expect it not to come back to bite you." Even as he spoke, more forms were appearing, some recognizable, others merely shadow figures, no faces to see.

"Damn," Sam cursed as they closed in from all sides. Arms circled around his chest, stepping up and holding on.

"Hang on," Carol said, and, feeling her small jump, his feet left the ground, out of the water, just as the first hands came close; howls of frustration sounded as Carol blasted out of the pool. They were flying, honest to god, ground dropping away beneath them and leaving pursuit behind them. Sam turned to look at Carol; her eyes were serious, but she smiled when she saw his own grin.

….

Dean made sure to catch the first few lights so they fell further and further behind Bunny's Range Rover. He kept to the speed limit and took the congested main roads until Clint was laughing at him.

"I'm pretty sure Tony and Bunny are just joking about the whole orgy thing," Clint offered, patting Dean on the knee. "Tony and Pepper are pretty solid right now. Anyway, Bunny's not my type."

"Very funny, ha, ha." Dean slowed to take a turn onto the 395 bridge to cross the Potomac. "Are you sure Stark's an asset? Seems more like a joker to me."

"Tony always comes through when we need him. Besides, he has the same sense of humor you do." Clint needled.

The person was standing at a crosswalk as they slowed to stop at the light; Dean saw the hole in his forehead, ringed with blood and gunshot residue, his yellow eyes shining as he walked towards the car.

"Dean?" Clint said. "Are you seeing dead people too?"

Dean glanced over at the passenger window; a large man in a purple costume was reaching for the car. The sound of fingernails on glass caught his attention, and he turned back to see Azazel's hand flat on his window; he could feel the heat radiating outward as the dead demon eased his fingers through the safety glass.

"That's not normal, is it?" Clint asked, scooting away from the door.

"Hell, no." Dean hit the gas, lurching forward into the intersection just as the light turned green, almost clipping the bumper of an SUV; they drove towards the next light, weaving in and out of the late evening traffic. Just as they approached, the light shifted to yellow. Alastair appeared in the street before them, a sinister smile as he beckoned them to stop. Instead, Dean floored it, racing through the light after it turned red, slamming right into the grinning demon. Whatever it was flowed around the car, dropping the image to reveal blackness churning with multi-colored lights; it split and oozed apart as they passed. In the rearview mirror, he could see it reform, the familiar face emerging from the darkness.

"Okay. That's officially weird." Clint's phone was vibrating; Tony's voice spilled out when he answered.

"What the hell is going on? I'm all Haley Joel Osment here! We've got dead people," he shouted. "They're after me, it seems. Or else my dad's ghost has bad taste in women."

Clint looked at Dean, who could only shrug as he tried to avoid another figure, one he didn't recognize. "We've got them too. Don't know what they are, but you can't run them down with a car."

"They're not ghosts, but try iron or silver. And running water protects from magic." Dean offered, blatantly running the next light to hang a left onto a smaller road with less traffic. "Call Sam. See if he's got anything."

…..

Carol slammed the door, directing an energy blast to melt the handle closed; they'd landed on the roof and taken the stairs down at a run, their pursuers materializing right behind them.

"I don't think these things use doors, Carol," Sam said, nodding over his shoulder to the living area. Ghazi was standing, waiting for them.

"Maybe I can absorb the energy or …" Carol began, but stopped when she saw Sam draw his knife across his forearm in a long shallow cut. Moving to the wall, he used his blood to draw a strange symbol.

"Come here." He held out his hand to her, and she went. He was the expert on this kind of thing, and she realized she trusted him. Standing behind him, they waited, letting the five distinct figures move closer, the shadows following, until they could almost touch them. Without warning, Sam slammed his hand onto the symbol and spoke some words – Latin, she thought, but she wasn't sure. The figures screamed, unearthly high pitched sounds that jabbed right into her brain, their human faces burning off to reveal a roiling black mass with colors and swirls churning inside. Then the blackness burst, the membrane holding it together dissolving, colors whirling in the room, then imploding with a loud clap. Silence then, except for their labored breathing.

"Damn. Wasn't sure that would work." Sam flew into action, scrounging in the kitchen for some supplies. "Get the candles from the table. We don't have much time. They're not gone, just dispersed for the moment."

Carol did as she was told, following Sam into the bedroom he'd used last night, dumping everything they were carrying on the unslept in second bed. Sam immediately rooted around in his duffle, coming up with a cardboard container of salt and tossing it to her.

"Line the windows. Then we need to ward every wall they could come through. Windows too."

She watched how he put a thick line of salt across the bottom of the door, so she did the same to the big windows, checking the bathroom which, thankfully, didn't have any. Then he began drawing a series of symbols on the doorway; without hesitation, she took the proffered knife and sliced her own arm, copying them exactly on the other walls. They even did the outer walls, unsure if the height of the building would be a problem. As they did, Sam talked, explaining what he was doing.

"It's the language of angels, Enochian. Most powerful runes I know. These are the warding runes, meant to keep even angels out. The one outside can blow an angel out of its body and back to heaven. I hoped it would be overkill for these things."

Just then, both of their phones rang. Carol finished up the last symbol and answered.

"Yeah, Tony we're fine. Look, find a room, preferably one with as few doors and windows as possible. Line the entrances with salt. I'm going to send you a picture of some symbols. Paint them on each wall … yes, all of them, these things can come through walls … and you have to use blood … yes, blood … no Tony I'm not shitting you. Shut up, okay? Just do it. Here's the pic." She sent a quick image and cut the connection; Sam was obviously talking to Clint.

"Tell Dean to treat them like angels. The warding works. What? Hell." Sam put his hand over the phone and spoke to Carol. "They're in the car."

Her phone rang again, this time a New York number that she didn't recognize. No one had this number but team members; curious, she answered.

"Carol. Something is happening in Washington DC. I can feel it." The deep voice boomed out of her phone.

"Strange? How did you… never mind. Look, we've got some sort of energy creatures here. They take the form of someone you know, someone who's dead, but they're all black with swirly colors on the inside. Sam said that Enochian warding works, but Clint's out in a car." Despite the fact that she found Doctor Strange to be pretty damn creepy with his calling before she could even think of needing his help … and the cape was just showy … he was probably one of the few people who could actually help them.

"Enochian? I didn't realize anyone even knew that language anymore. I would like to meet this Sam fellow at a future date when things are not so dangerous. As for now, consecrated ground should also suffice as a protection; similar principle to the wards. Consecrated, not just holy ground."

"Consecrated ground." Carol told Sam. "Tell them to find some. Not holy, but consecrated."

"Clint? Can you hear me? Consecrated ground…" Sam continued; it was like a game of tag, passing messages along.

"This spell, for this is magic, should last only until sunrise. I will endeavor to determine what this new power is. Perhaps it is not new so much as new to me. The flavor is very old, indeed. I will contact you if I have any more information." The line went dead.

Tossing the phone on the bed, Carol leaned against the wall and slid slowly down, bending her knees and laying her forehead on them as she sat. Wet jeans squelched as she began to shiver, the after effects of adrenaline and the cold hitting her all at once. Zombies, ghosts, energy monsters … suddenly fighting doombots didn't seem all that exotic.


	7. Chapter 7

"You alright?" Sam took Carol's hands between his, rubbing to warm them up. She lifted her head, gazing into his concerned eyes.

"That wasn't really them, was it?" She'd meant to tell him that she dealt with weird stuff all the time, doombots and skrulls and mad scientists, but instead she's voiced her biggest fear. Too many people had died in her past, by her hands or by others, some who deserved it and some who didn't. The faces haunted her dreams, and now they'd walked into this case. "Some kind of energy?"

"Don't let it get to you. It's magic, playing on our own doubts." Sam assured her. "Come on. We're both soaked and a hot shower will help. There's not much we can do until the sun comes up."

He pulled her up to her feet and she went with him. She was cold in her wet jeans and squelching shoes, but it was the thought of Sam in that big shower with her that really warmed her up.

"You're right," she agreed, lifting up on her toes, curling her hands around his neck and drawing his face down to hers. "You're going to join me, right?" She kissed him, the way she'd been daydreaming about, hands carding through his long hair as she pressed her lips to his; she loved the feel of the silky strands between her fingers, and how he sighed as her thumbs grazed the side of his face.

"It's just that I've had pretty bad luck with the last few women." Sam's hands were on her waist, and he was so serious as he looked at her. "Actually, women in general. You saw two of them tonight, in fact."

He was hesitant. She sensed that. "Okay." She stepped back and held out her hand. "Let's try full disclosure. I'm Carol. A few years ago, I was caught in an explosion and infused with the DNA of an alien race. Before that I used to be in the Air Force and worked for the government. I'm a massive nerd, love _Star Wars_ and the _Lord of the Rings_, and have a cat named Chewbacca."

Sam laughed, his face lighting with amusement. "Well, then, I'm Sam Winchester. Been psychic, possessed by a demon, and kill monsters for a living. Last woman I slept with turned out to be a goddess. And I like organic food and almost became a lawyer."

"A lawyer? That might be a deal breaker, I'm afraid." Carol caught his hand. "But I'll overlook it. Want to take a hot shower with me?"

"Sound like a plan to me," Sam answered.

Hot and quick, they grabbed each other; Carol unbuttoned Sam's shirt and pulled it off, Sam tugged at the hem of Carol's tee. Their hands touched everywhere, lips meeting and parting in a rapid series of kisses, a flurry of breathy little moans as they gave in to the long build-up of tension. She traced the outlines of his muscular stomach as he ran his mouth down the side of her neck, sucking in circles of skin as he went; he caught her waist and held on as she ducked her head and licked a stripe across his chest ending at his nipple, dragging it inside her mouth. Impatient, she wanted all of it, naked bodies, deep kisses, the feel of him inside of her.

"Wait, wait, just a second," she pushed back and looked around the room. "Where's my bag? Damn it. No, no, no, I think I left it outside in the hallway." She had dropped it when Sam activated the sigil she suddenly remembered. "Fuck."

"It's okay." Sam pulled his wallet out of his jeans pocket. "I stuck some in earlier. After you kissed me. In the car. Just in case." Three familiar packets were in his hand as he tossed the wallet on the far bed.

"Boy scout." Carol linked her arms around his neck. "Thank god. I'd hate to have to draw all those damn symbols again."

Sam laughed at her. "You'd have gone out there for a condom?"

"Damn straight, hunter boy." She nipped at his neck, and he groaned as she let her breasts tease his chest. "I'd kick some magic ass for you."

"Damn, Carol." Sam's eyes glazed as she lifted herself onto her toes and rubbed her hips against the hard line of his cock. They were both lost then; belts unhooked, pants pulled down and off, shoes kicked into the corner as they grappled to kiss as much skin as possible, bodies tangling together. They made it into the bathroom, Sam somehow turning on the water without taking his hand off of Carol's breast; she managed to unroll the condom onto him, fingers provoking retaliatory bites on her shoulder. Then her back was flush with the tiled wall, the steam from the water's heat instantly condensing into droplets all over her skin; she lifted her legs around his waist, tightening them as he slid inside of her. Honest-to-god, she'd been ready since this morning when she'd seen him without his shirt; the whole day had been just one endless frustrating session of foreplay. That damn plaid shirt, his long hair brushing over the collar, the way he'd tasted when she'd kissed him in that sex-on-wheels car. It had all been leading up to this, the way he filled her, so big, so good, rocking his hips into hers at an almost lazy pace. His breath ghosted over her ear and down her neck as he rested his forehead on her shoulder and began to thrust, hands spanning her hips, fingers brusingly firm as he held on. The buzz of intensity that had hummed just below the surface since they'd met moved up from her gut to her chest and her throat, vibrating down to her toes, shaking her core and the place where they were joined in the most intimate of ways. There was nothing to do but let the orgasm take her, bursting up and out quickly; she closed her eyes as the sensation enveloped her. Time lengthened, and the world constricted to Sam's groans, his hands flexing in anticipation, his chest brushing her aching nipples, the completeness as he came with shudders of his own. The water kept falling, but Carol was out of the stream; a shiver settled over her, body cooling down. Taking her as if she weighted nothing, Sam turned until the water covered them both, kissing her, easy and slow. He steadied her as she eased her legs down.

"Your feet aren't on the floor." He glanced down; Carol realized she was floating a few inches up, making kissing him easier. With a start, she settled down on the tile.

"Sorry." She knew that her abilities tended to freak guys out in the most mundane of situations. Sam had taken the whole flying get away earlier in stride, but during sex?

"Hey, no problem. Kind of nice not to have to bend over so much," he grinned as he spoke, running a hand along the line of her wet hair. "Sorry that was so fast. You've been winding me up all day."

"Well, you'll just have to make it up to me on the second round … or the third." 'Cause, hell yes, there was going to be more. They had a whole night to wait out.

"I think I can manage that now that we're warmed up." He smiled and part of her heart melted at the look. Damn. She had it bad.

…

"Clint, talk to me!" Dean couldn't see the other man in the rearview mirror, and he couldn't chance taking his eyes off the road as he took the turn into the entrance too fast, tires squealing. He'd heard the slam when Clint's head hit the window's edge while leaning out to blast salt rounds; Dean had swerved to avoid a car stopped at a light and had heard nothing since then. He had to slow as he approached the open black gates, rolling in behind a mini-van, and one of the men he didn't recognize reached for the open window, pulling himself in, hand outstretched.

"You can keep killing me, Clint, but I'll always come back." A groan followed by a sharp inhale came from the back seat; the hand connected and Clint cursed loudly in pain. They crossed the threshold, passing between the white marble towers onto the road that wound through the manicured green lawns marked with row upon row of white stones. A scream ripped through the car as the figure dematerialized, bursting into a million sparkling motes that faded into the air around them.

"Hang on." Dean drove through the lines of graves, turning away from the tourist areas to find a quiet place to hide the car.

"Maintenance buildings. Northwest corner." Clint pushed himself up, holding his shoulder at an odd angle. Blood rolled down one side of his face. "Parking lot there for workers. Probably our best bet. Just try to avoid any bumps if you can."

Dean made short work of finding a spot along the side of a building that housed lawnmowers, under the shade of a spreading oak tree. Backing in, he cut the engine and grabbed the first aid kit; he was out of the driver's door and in the back seat in a flash. Clint hunched over, but managed to give Dean a lopsided grin. Rolling up the window, Dean caught Clint's chin and turned his face into the light.

"It's not as bad as it looks," Clint argued, but he flinched when Dean's fingers probed the area. "Having a hard skull can be useful. Scalp wounds just bleed like a bitch." Antiseptic wipes were in the kit, so Dean cleaned off the blood, closing the open gash with a small butterfly bandage.

"Okay, let's see that shoulder." Dean ordered.

"Bossy, aren't you?" Clint tried to take off his jacket, but the movement caused him to grimace; Dean ended up helping, waiting until Clint's left arm was free to pull the right arm out and toss the jacket into the front seat. Even with Clint's shirt still on, Dean could see a bright red patch of skin on his forearm, roughly hand shaped, and a darkening bruise already forming at the edge of his sleeve. "At least it's not my firing arm." Clint groaned as Dean made him lift his arm to take off his shirt; the bruising continued all along Clint's shoulder blade, red and scraped raw in places.

"Damn, dude, that's going to hurt like the devil tomorrow." He dug through the kit for a small jar of salve. "This will take some of the sting out. One of Bobby's friends makes it." He angled himself so his back rested in the corner, and he turned Clint to reach his back. Taking a dollop of the smelly stuff – peppermint warred with arnica and the scent of thyme – Dean started rubbing the area as gently as possible; Clint grunted and recoiled slightly.

"I'm going to smell like Christmas," Clint complained, but he shifted back and started to relax.

"Is that a burn?" Dean nodded to Clint's arm. "There's some ointment in the kit." Clint took the offering and slathered some white cream over the red area.

"It's where Barney touched me. The jacket took some of the brunt of the damage." Tension seeped back into Clint's neck and shoulders at the name. "What the hell were those things, anyway? Not ghosts. The Impala's got enough metal to disperse one, but that thing just … flowed … over it."

"Never seen anything like them." Dean's fingers worked the salve in, easy and light. "I don't think they were the people they looked like though; it's more like something was wearing their faces."

"Well the spell was aimed at us specifically, and those were people we knew; we've pissed off someone recently," Clint rolled his neck and dug a couple pain killers out of the kit, swallowing them dry. "So, basically, situation normal."

Dean chuckled; it was true. Every time the two of them were together things seemed to go to hell in a hand basket fast. He wasn't sure he'd know what to do if they weren't fighting weres or gods or strange magical creatures; nah, he did know. They'd be drinking at some diner, eating a juicy burger and having a slice of pie. Might actually be nice to try that just once.

After a few minutes of quiet, his fingers working out the tightness of Clint's shoulders, Dean asked. "Who's Barney?"

Clint sighed and leaned back, resting against Dean, head falling onto his shoulder. The silence stretched long enough for Dean to wonder if there would be any answer. "My brother. I killed him." Dean waited, hands skimming up and down Clint's arms. "He got twisted, manipulated by a mad scientist who brought him back from the dead. It wasn't really him. And you're probably the only person I could say that to who'd believe me."

"Yeah, I know. Can't announce 'that's the demon who tortured me in hell standing in the road' to just anyone." Shifting, he straightened his leg out, bringing Clint back fully flush against him. Settling in, Clint's ass bumped and Dean's cock responded, interested in the arrangement.

"That's seriously fucked-up, dude." Clint shook his head in sympathy. "We're a pair, that's for sure."

Silence fell in the car; it was getting darker now, just one street light on the other side of the maintenance lot casting long shadows. Clint's body was warm, heating up Dean's skin, and his brain began to supply possibilities as his hands came to rest on Clint's thighs. Finally, Clint turned his head to look at Dean. "Never actually been parking before, you know. Fast hand jobs behind the trailers, but no backseat shenanigans."

"No one ever asked you to watch the submarine races? That was one of my best lines, dude. Got my first blow job in this very car." Dean joked, hands rubbing idly back and forth. "Want to hear the story?"

"I'm not going anywhere." Clint drew his knee up on the seat, getting comfortable. "Let me guess. An older, experience woman took mercy on a charming little Dean Winchester."

"Paula Sue Felton. 17. Hotel owner's daughter. One night when Dad went out drinking, we snuck out to the car after Sammy went to sleep. I thought I was in heaven when she let me touch her breasts; small and perfect, and I was in awe of her when she put those rosy red lips on me." As he talked, Dean slid his hands up onto the smooth skin of Clint's waist, fingers drawing feather light circles. "Best 14th birthday present ever. You?"

Clint's hand covered Dean's, tracing his fingers. "I don't know her name, I'm ashamed to say. She came looking for Barney after a show but he'd already left with another girl. I guess I was sloppy seconds; I didn't mind at the time." He moved their hands together, down, a slow drag over the bulge in his jeans. "Now my first time with a guy? Matt Belinni, one of the great flying Belinnis, acrobats. Stole a bottle of gin from Matt's dad, and we got completely drunk. Barney was stuck on some girl who could care less about him, and he kept going on and on about her until he passed out. Matt crawled over to me and, damn, the guy knew what he was doing, that's for sure." Clint pressed up into Dean's hand, and the little intake of breath Clint made was hot as hell, so Dean ground the heel of his hand along the ridge of Clint's inseam and was reward with another sigh.

"You liked it, did you?" Dean asked; the air in the car was charged now with their conversation and the growing tension.

"That was the start of a very interesting summer of experiments. We were so scared someone would find out; Matt's dad was very old world when it came to sexuality." It was Dean's turn to sigh as Clint's hands ran up his thighs, thumbs on the inside, leaving a heated trail as they went. "Your first guy?"

"A dare. Twin cheerleaders, if you can believe it. We'd done some shots of tequila and smoked a few joints – all mellow and high – and I wanted to watch them make out. They promised they would if I'd let one of their boyfriends suck me off." Popping open the button of Clint's jeans, Dean pulled the zipper down, pushing the denim as Clint lifted his hips. "Commando? Really?" Clint's cock was thick and red, and Dean gently stroked the head with the tips of his fingers.

"Not much choice this morning …." Clint broke off when Dean's thumb dragged along the shaft, and his fingers teased, making Clint even harder.

"Anyway, we went first, and the dude was obviously pretty experienced; sad to say the girls reneged and left us alone. I think we got so into it that it freaked them out." Damn but Clint's attempts to keep his moans quiet turned him on and made Dean rub his own cock further into the cleft of Clint's ass.

"Couldn't handle your universal charm, eh?" Clint turned his head and buried into Dean's neck, holding on to Dean's thighs as the stroking continued. Leaning over, Dean picked up the tube of lube from the medical kit on the floor; he spread some on his hand and curled his fingers all the way around Clint's cock, lifting it and pumping up and down. "God, Dean," Clint flat out groaned.

"You want to hear about the best fuck I've ever had?" Dean dropped his voice to a husky whisper now, loathe to disturb the quiet of the graveyard around them; his hand didn't stop even when Clint wrapped his fingers around Dean's and joined him.

"Seriously?" Clint's mouth was on Dean's neck, sucking in little bits of skin, leaving a new set of marks alongside the fading ones from yesterday. "Yes. Hell. Keep talking."

"There was this guy. Kissed me in a damn alleyway, would you believe it? In the middle of a fight, no less. Been a long time since I had a guy, and he just sat me down on his lap and fucked me until I couldn't see straight." Dean let Clint speed up as he strained upwards, breaths growing harsh and ragged. "Don't worry though. I got to sink myself deep inside him the next morning, and a couple times after that. Once right on the hood of this car; held him down and fucked him until he came all over the paint job."

"Dean," Clint moaned; Dean wrapped an arm around Clint's waist and tilted him back, their hands working together.

"And the best part? Turns out he has this thing about fucking in public, lots of windows, where anyone could walk by and see us, could hear him when he comes …"

"Son-of-a-bitch." Clint grimaced as his body tightened, and he climaxed, hips jerking as he covered their hands and spattered on to his stomach. His eyes fluttered closed for a few seconds, and his fingers relaxed their hold on Dean's leg. "Best fuck ever? Really?"

"Okay, maybe top three. I'll give you that. Don't get cocky or anything." Reaching down, Dean grabbed a package of baby wipes, took one and handed it to Clint who shrugged and took it.

"Me? Cocky?" He wiggled his ass against Dean's still hard cock and pushed up, forgetting his shoulder and arm; he hissed before Dean caught him and sat them both up, sliding over to the middle of the seat.

"Here," Dean said. "Lean forward onto the back of the seat and rest your shoulder." Clint laid his head on his left arm, wiggling his jeans down to the floor, earning a light smack on his ass as Dean didn't even bother to resist the urge to grind unabashedly against Clint, enjoying the friction. His mouth found the line of Clint's spine, kissing his way down, knob by knob; opening his jeans, Dean tugged them off, arching up to slide them over his hips. Sensitive cock grazed against Clint's skin, and Dean fumbled for the tube to cover his fingers with the slippery gel. One hand lifted Clint up as the other fingers circled, teasing, before one pushed passed the tightness, easing in slowly. He kissed Clint again, running his tongue into the indentations in the shallow curve of his back as he opened Clint up, taking his time. One finger and Clint was already moaning, pushing back into Dean's hand for more. Two and Dean twirled them as he shifted in and out, Clint bucking his hips when the tips brushed against the right spot. Three, and Dean 's arm wrapped around Clint's hips, holding him still, fingers spreading him out, readying Clint's body.

"Dean, damn," Clint cursed when Dean's fingers pulled out to unroll the condom and slather on more lube. Holding his cock with one hand, Dean guided Clint down onto him, slow and controlled, little bit by little bit. Clint used the front seat for leverage, until he was all the way down on Dean's lap.

"Arm okay?" Dean managed to ask, waiting to see if Clint was comfortable. Reaching his right arm around Clint, Dean braced himself on the front seat as well.

"I'll be fine once you decide to actually fuck me and quit worrying about it." Clint huffed, rising up and sinking back down to get things started. "I hear I'm pretty good at this so…"

"Remind me never to stroke your ego again." Dean laughed; the man was entirely too cheeky, even with Dean's cock inside him. Damn, but he liked that it in a guy. He pulsed out and back in, still slow, and was rewarded when Clint circled his hips and settled further down. Holding onto Clint with his left hand, the seat with his right, Dean let the rhythm build, picking up speed, and he and Clint fell into the dance of up and down, thrust and retreat, bodies meeting at just the right moment only to fall away and do it all again. There were no sounds in the car but stifled moans, panting, Dean's litany of curses, and skin hitting skin as they worked at it, rising to a fever pitch. Dean felt the familiar coil in his gut that signaled his own climax, and he shifted slightly, changed the angle to go as deep as he could in his last few thrusts. When he came, it was a wave released; he fell forward onto Clint's back, sweaty cheek against sweaty skin.

"You missed the late worker." Clint's voice rumbled. "Crossed the parking lot about the time you were coming so noisily."

Dean's head came up and he peered at the lot. Sure enough, an empty spot was under the street light where a sedan had been earlier. "Why didn't you say something?"

"What? Hey Dean, stopping chanting 'fuck, fuck, fuck' and calling my name 'cause some dude's heading home? He was all the way across the lot and wouldn't be able to see us since he was in the light." Clint eased himself upright, sliding off of Dean and dropping to the seat next to him. "Besides, I was too busy getting fucked in the backseat of an Impala … in Arlington National Cemetery to boot … to worry about it."

"Hey, cemeteries are like a second home to me." Dean said. "At least I'm not digging up any graves. This is much more enjoyable."

…

_She felt the heat of the flames on her back, reveling in the destruction around her; watching order fall to chaos was orgasmic for her, never more so than when a man, deluded about his own abilities, was kneeling at her feet. He had fought her, literally, with his teeth and talons, shifting forms to find the best hold – but none of it mattered to her. Magic was magic, power was power – all came from the same source, the well of pure discord that fueled her. It was like turning fire upon fire; she merely rewove it and sent it back triple fold. _

"_Who are you?" The man once known as King Lycaon asked, still defiant to the bitter end. "What do you want?"_

"_Just taking what once was mine. You petty kings and gods and monsters … so drunk on power, living on borrowed time. Well, I'm back and it's time to get my house in order." She trailed a finger down his cheek; an icy blue streak cracked in its wake. "Do you know what the void is like? They say it's icy, frozen nothingness. But it's also mind-melting heat, fire that burns hot enough to change your very essence." Another finger, this time the smell of burning flesh. "You have long forgotten what was locked away, told yourselves I'm just a dream, a myth. I'm not."_

"_No," his eyes widened as he looked at her, the sweet face of a young woman contorted with the vengeful drive of pure hatred. "That's just a story."_

"_You should have worked with me, let me use your wolves." She wrapped her hand around his neck, bending down until their faces were level. "I might have let them survive at least. But you? You've long ago outlived your usefulness." _

_Lucas Kaniedes felt every painful second as his life drained out, all the way down to the very essence that kept him alive for so long, taking the magic that had changed him until nothing was left. Like a heady wine, it all flowed back into her, her own strength growing. Her hand stayed clenched long after the man was nothing but a husk, falling into ash; flames licked at her skirt, and, suddenly, her body gave out. Stumbling slightly, she kicked his corpse, and it drifted into tiny brown motes of dead skin and powdered bone, scattering into the fire. The half-human part of Tessa Black was fading, unable to handle the demands. Summoning up the right spell, she took herself outside where she could watch the building burn, hear the screams of the last people trapped inside, her plan changing._

_She would find these humans who defied gravity, knew the language of the angels, faced their fears so easily, and refused to realize they were already defeated. Find them and deal with them herself. It was time to trade up._


	8. Chapter 9

The body was in full rigor mortis, arms rigid in their spread eagle position inside the circle, blood dried a dark brown on the concrete floor. Sam knelt just outside the splatter, examining the beer bottle and glasses; Carol studied the various spell paraphernalia on the rickety folding table. The basement was cold and damp, ancient washer and dryer the only thing in the space confined within crumbling brick walls; they'd been tracing Tessa's path during her missing hours and the trail had led them to this old house, her aunt's home.

"Looks like the waiter from last night at the bar," Sam said. "That would explain how he or she got our DNA to link the spell to us. I don't recognize these symbols though." He took pictures with his phone of the simple chalk circle and drawings on the floor.

"I've got some herbs, a strange rock, a tree branch, and, given the state of the victim, probably human blood." Carol didn't touch anything, carefully avoiding the items on the table. Sam stood and looked over her shoulder, taking a pinch of the herb mixture to sniff.

"Wormwood and something else. Quartz," he pointed to the stone, "focuses magical energies, would help target the spell and increase the power of it. Elm wood, that fits. It's associated with the Great Goddess, especially in her crone form. Tracks with Hera and Hecate. Definitely a female power at work here."

"Well, if I ever need info on magic, I know who to come to now," Carol joked, smiling at him.

"I think we've got all we need here. Why don't you give your friend a call? At least the poor guy's family will know he's dead."

"Friend? Oh, right, you mean April. Good idea," Carol took out her phone and headed up the stairs to get better reception; Sam followed rolling the information they'd gathered around in his head, looking for connections. This whole thing had started with werewolf kills … four of them … and now they were hip deep in deities and alphas. Someone, it seemed, was trying to corner the mark on god power and they'd managed to get right in the middle of it and paint a big target on their back as usual.

His phone rang and he answered while Carol was still talking to the detective.

"Hey, where are you guys? We're almost back to the hotel, and we've got news." Dean said, anxiety evident in his voice.

"On our way, maybe 30 minutes out. We've can compare notes then." Sam opened the passenger door to Carol's car and slid in.

…

"The original Great Goddess?" Sam shook his head. "We are up shit creek if that's true."

"Agreed. She took out an Alpha without blinking, burned the whole place to the ground." Clint had his feet on the end table, a cold bottle of beer in his hand as he lounged on the couch.

"Oh, come on. We've taken out Lucifer. We can handle one Big Bad Bitch Goddess," Dean unscrewed the cap off a second bottle. He dropped down into a chair, paralleling his legs with Clint's. "We figure out how to gank her, send back to the Phantom Zone, and everyone goes back to normal."

"We're talking chaos here, Dean. That's where it all comes from – magic, monsters, god powers. It's the difference between breathing in air and rocket engine liquid oxygen," Sam tried to explain.

Dean just shrugged; he honestly didn't see what all the fuss was about. Everything could be killed. "She needs a vessel and, as we both know, the more powerful the ride-along, the more specific the human that can handle her. Tessa was a demi-god, and she wasn't strong enough."

"Wait. What? Tessa was a demi-god?" Sam asked, surprised. "How do you know that?"

Clint's face stayed impassive; the man was good at not giving anything away. They'd agreed earlier to keep Kali out of the conversation; Dean knew Sam wouldn't be happy about the deal he'd made with the goddess, and he wanted to tell Sam by himself instead of dropping it in the middle of the group.

"Hey, you're not the only one who can do research, man," Dean went with indignation. That usually worked. "Didn't you say Tessa's mom died, and she was raised by an aunt just a second ago?" Sam glared at his brother, but Dean was used to that look. Sam could just get over it.

"Then we need to look for someone with enough power to sustain her, someone she's come into contact with?" Sam was already thinking about the new problem.

"Too bad there's not a directory of monsters and magical creatures," Clint offered. "It would make things easier."

"Nah, it'd include too many people. D.C. is one screwed up town." Dean raised his bottle, and Clint clinked his to it, toasting the uselessness of politicians.

"We should start identifying those markings at the ritual site. You said they weren't Enochian, so we've got to track down what they are," Carol suggested as she crossed the room to put her hands on Dean's shoulders, leaning down over him. "Maybe you guys can try to locate that missing coffee shop worker? The one who didn't come in today?"

Dean started, tensing up as Carol's fingers trailed across his neck, a light caress that might or might not have been too intimate. Seriously, Sam was sitting right there and she was feeling him up? He caught Clint's eye; there was that tell-tale blink, the one that said he'd notice it too.

"Sure, we can do that," Dean sat forward, easing away from her hands. "First we ought to strengthen the warding here, though, so we're protected in case of another attack, right Sam?"

"Right. I'll start with the outer door in the hallway." He moved that way. "You want to start in the bedrooms?"

With a wave of her hand, Clint and Dean were slammed back into their seats, the force pressing down on their chests, making it hard to draw in a breath. Sam hung, feet a foot off the ground, suspended in air.

"Well, enough of that," Carol's voice changed, huskier and tinged with more than a little madness. "I'm not much for playing pretend anyway. Just couldn't keep my hands off the merchandise." She winked at Dean.

"Who the hell are you?" Dean ground out at the bitch who'd taken Carol's body.

"Oh, love, I called so many names, all of them given to me by my enemies. The closest you can come is just 'she', but let's go with Morwen for now. I might change it tomorrow." She was still behind Dean and now she ran her hand down his chest and between his legs with a dark laugh. "Goodness, but what a trio I've found here to play with. You, big brother, have depths that I can only begin to plumb; anger, darkness, a vessel of such strong lineage. Who were you meant for, Dean Winchester? It's too bad that my lover is still trapped; you'd be perfect for him. Might last long enough for me to kill the bastard again." She left Dean struggling to break her hold and strolled over to where Sam was suspended; rising up, she brought her face even with his. "And look at you, little Sammy. An Archangel's vessel, demon blood, raised to be King of Hell. I will so enjoy making you my knight. Carol certainly enjoyed the sex, but I can give you what you really want." She leaned in and started to kiss him, but he turned his head and she bit his cheek instead, drawing blood.

"Carol, listen to me. Fight her. You're strong, you can do it." Sam tried to reach out, but she only laughed at him, smearing his blood over her lips with her thumb then sucking it off.

"There is no Carol, only ….. Zuul? What does that mean?" She seemed confused by the quote, unsure of the reference. "I'm afraid your friend is gone." Dean and Sam shared a look; maybe Carol was there, trying to communicate with them. Okay, _Ghostbusters_ quotes were a long shot, but they'd take what they could get.

"Do we get to pick the form of the destroyer?" Dean asked.

She cocked her head as she came to Clint, straddling his legs and settling onto his lap. "Sorry, boys, but this chick is toast."

"Hey, I know, she's in D.C., she's a goddess, we get her laid …."Clint stopped as Morwen's hand splayed on his chest, and he struggled to breathe.

"Enough, Clint. Did you know that Carol has thought about you, wondered what you'd be like in bed?" She tapped her fingers, one after another, pinky to thumb and back again. "Clint Barton. Plain vanilla human, runs with the big boys and girls. What am I to do with you?" As she ran her hand across the soft cotton of his shirt, she paused over his heart. "Well, well. What have we here? I'm afraid this is going to hurt." Fingers sank into his chest until her whole hand was inside; Clint bit down on his lip, a drop of blood running out of the corner as he choked back a cry of pain.

"Alright, stop or I'll…" Dean warned; pushing as hard as he could, he felt his fingers move slightly, the tiniest easing of the band of magic that held him in place.

"Or what, Deano?" She scoffed, then her smile widened. "Oh, my dear Clint." A pulse of blue light ran down her arm and into Clint; he closed his eyes and ground his teeth, throwing his head back. "Fascinating." Dean watched as Clint calmed, lids opening to reveal startling blue eyes, his attention on Morwen. Something was wrong; the humor he'd come to expect was gone, nothing but cold calculation in the blue depths.

"Hmmmm … seems someone left a little something behind here. The magic feels familiar … ah, yes. The Tesseract." She practically crowed. "This power makes Hera's little items seem like nothing in comparison. And you're going to hand it to me."

"Good god, the SecNav is a long-winded son-of-a …." Tony wandered into the room; he stopped when he saw the tableau. "Okay, this is not normal. Unless you're having an orgy and didn't invite me. Um, Clint, are your eyes blue again?"

"Men," Morwen shook her head, casting a hand back at Tony and throwing him across the room, as casually as if she was tossing a Kleenex into the trash. "Always about sex, isn't it? Just give me a second here to break the original spellcaster's hold and you, my little archer, will be the key to my return." She twisted her hand and sweat broke out on Clint's forehead, but he stayed still and quiet; Tony dragged himself off the floor and stood back up.

"Let him go," Tony ordered.

"Wait your turn." She ignored Stark entirely, concentrating on the energies she was manipulating; her forehead furrowed and she cursed under her breath. Growing angry, she pulled her hand out and took Clint's face between her palms, thumbs alongside his nose, fingers spread. Clint's eyes pinched at edges, the only sign of the pain he must be feeling; Dean pushed even more, hand coming free from the arm of the chair. "I will have this power if I have to break you first."

"I said, let him go." Tony's voice was filtered through the Iron Man suit – Dean had been so focused on Clint and Sam that he'd missed that entirely - hand held out and repulsor ready to fire. In the blink of an eye, Clint slammed his head into hers and then he bucked her off of him, coming up from the couch as she fell into the coffee table, shattering the safety glass as she went down, back of her head thumping against the wrought iron frame. Dean jumped up, spell holding him gone, just as Sam fell heavily back to the ground, collapsing onto the floor. Clint grabbed for her, dragging her up by the hem of Carol's t-shirt; she smiled, blood flowing down her face from a long, jagged cut at her temple.

"That was your plan?" Her blast blew them all back except for Tony whose inertial dampeners keep him in place. Clint slammed into Dean, and they rolled over the back of the chair, limbs tangling together as they tried to right themselves. In the close quarters, the repulsor blast echoed, sound overwhelming Dean's ears, leaving them ringing even as Carol brushed off the beam and launched herself at Tony, adding speed until the two of them went crashing through the plate glass window and out into the sunny afternoon sky.

"Devil's trap?" Sam dashed for a duffel, grabbing a can of red spray paint. "Exorcism? Or holy fire?"

"All of them. Can't hurt." Dean was watching Clint's mechanical movements, the deadened look in his shockingly blue eyes. "Clint? What the hell?" he asked softly. The archer looked, brow knitted as he puzzled something out, and then the blue faded, replaced by the soft blue-grey Dean knew. Shaking his head, Clint stood up and reached a hand down to help Dean up.

"Later. How do we get Carol back?" Clint headed immediately for his bow, slinging his quiver on his back. "A good blow to the head didn't work."

Sam yanked back the rug, drawing the pentagram and symbols as Clint tucked his communicator in his ear. Dean poured a circle of holy oil. "We need her back here," he said to Clint.

"Tony, can you get her back in the…." Red and gold blurred as Tony swept in the now gaping window, Morwen right behind him. Bolts nailed the painting on the wall and the small refrigerator, blowing glasses out of the cabinet where they shattered on the granite countertop. She settled to the ground, feet touching just inside the trap; Dean tossed his lighter into the oil and a ring of fire closed around her. Sam chanted the Latin words to expel the demon.

"Not a demon, boys, but nice try." Morwen put her hands on her hips, her wound already closing up. "I'm not sleeping three feet above the covers." She stepped out of the trap, over the fire; Clint loosed an arrow that wrapped her in a net, but she threw it off easily. In a flash, she grabbed Sam, twisting an arm behind his back, lifting up in the air and zooming back out of the window, the two of them hanging there. "Here's the deal. Give me the bowl, and I won't kill Sam in a way that makes him scream in pain for hours. You've got 30 minutes to think about it; let's say the World War II memorial? I like the pool and fountains. Follow me, and I'll cut off a part or two now."

"Listen to me, Morwen or whatever you want to call yourself. You don't know me, but if you mess with my brother, I'm going to kick your ass," Dean said.

"People who cross the Winchesters or the Avengers always get their comeuppance," Clint said. "Always."

"Patience is a virtue." She didn't look the least bit perturbed. "30 minutes." And then she flew away, taking Sam with her.

…

The National Mall was crawling with tourists; buses paused to disgorge their passengers – a Korean tour group, senior citizens with cameras and V.F.W. caps, school children eating their late lunches on the green grass. In a word, Clint thought, it was a complete and under clusterfuck of a place to do this, and that's what Morwen was counting on. Not that they didn't have a few surprises on their side; he certainly hoped that the Bitch Goddess was so out of touch that she wouldn't think of the possibilities, but Carol certainly might and that would give away any edge they. From his vantage point on top of one of the row of columns, Clint had eyes on Dean, standing by the edge of the pool, jacket concealing a plethora of weapons that they hoped they wouldn't have to use, if all went according to plan. Not that fate ever cooperated which meant they'd probably end up in a firefight just steps from the White House, get the National Guard called in, or the Secret Service, and damn, he hoped Tony's call to the Secretary of Defense had greased some of the wheels.

He shrugged his shoulders, rolling his neck a bit, trying to ease the tension he felt running up the muscles and into the back of his skull from where the bitch had played with his head, finding that little pocket of Loki's magic and reactivating it. Thinking about it wasn't going to help – but damn it, he'd thought he was free from all of that, finally trusting himself again, and she'd gone and dragged it back out. At least she hadn't been able to turn him against the others, but, maybe worse than that, now she knew about the Tesseract and the power it offered. And Dean had seen him, all blue eyed and mind controlled and that bothered him more than he wanted to admit.

A movement caught his eye; Morwen strolled across the walkway, arm companionably linked through Sam's, looking for the work like a couple out for an evening visit to the memorial. Sam kept his eyes down on his feet, obviously avoiding the danger of giving away anything by reacting to something he saw. Tuning into the mic they'd planted on Dean, he listened into the conversation.

"Such lovely humans here. Be a shame if something bad was to happen to them, don't you agree?" was her opening volley.

"Let's just get this done and get on with it." Dean's answer was curt and short.

"Tell your boyfriend if an arrows head my way, I'll make sure they hit an innocent." She looked right at Clint. "In fact, tell him and that egotist Stark to make their way out in the open where I can see them, right here, or all bets are off."

It wasn't unexpected; she had to know they'd be there, and she wanted to humiliate them all. Clint swung down the access ladder, bow across his back, and walked confidently through the parting crowd. Tony's arrival was showier; he always did like to make an entrance. People craned their necks and ogled him as he landed close to Clint, obviously recognizing the two of them; cell phones popped out to take pictures, and camera flashes went off.

"Now, isn't this better?" she asked. "Hera's bowl, please." Hand extended, she waited for a reply.

"Well, see, now that's a problem. You're a day late and a dollar short. You'll have to take that up with the new owner." Dean shrugged, nodded to the right, and Kali stepped out of the crowd, her walk a slow saunter that was as intimidating as her look. "The other interested parties as well." Hera, then Crowley separated from the others, forming a loose circle. "Oh, and there's this other guy. Something about his niece Tessa Black and some glowy cube thing." Thor landed with a crackle of thunder; the empty space around them grew even larger.

"Boys, boys. The gunfight at the O.K. Corral? Don't forget that your brother is right in the line of fire." She shot back, unimpressed.

"Hiya, Sammy. Miss me?" The man who appeared was short, especially when compared to Sam; laying a hand on Sam's shoulder, he grinned up at the tall Winchester. In a blink, they disappeared, reappearing beside Dean and Clint.

"Gabriel?" Sam asked, incredulous. "But you're …."

"Dead? Yep. Seems someone couldn't live without me." The archangel winked at Kali.

"You know any damage you do to me will only hurt your friend in the end? Plus, this body is pretty much impervious to your attack," she said, still smug in her own power.

"Actually, we're counting on that," Clint said. They launched the attack at the exact same time; Thor unleashed his thunder, throwing Mjolnir right at her. Concussive blots flew from Hera's fingertips; a silver arrow streaked from hidden Artemis' vantage point. At a snap of Crowley's fingers, hellfire sprang up around her; the stone beneath her feet cracked and bubbled as Kali's fire rolled up her legs. Tony's repulsor blast hit her dead on, Clint's arrow exploded, and Dean went the old fashioned route – a couple shotgun blasts to the chest. The onslaught pushed her back, forcing her to dig in to keep from being blown away. When the dust cleared, she was still standing, and she threw back her head and laughed at their efforts.

"That's the best you can do?" She asked.

"Just getting you to the right location," Stephen Strange laid a hand on her shoulder, his magic enveloping her. Carol's body jerked and a dark mist poured out, oozing through her skin, hovering in front of the rift that Thor was opening. Breaking into atoms, the mist was pulled into the swirling vortex, disappearing; the rift slowly closed. Carol sank down to her knees; Sam stepped over to help her.

"So, she gone for good?" Dean asked.

"Unfortunately, no. She's a few worlds away, but she will regain power and return. I must research to find a more permanent solution." Strange nodded at the all then simply disappeared.

"Where did you dig him up?" Crowley asked. "Always eye-opening with the thickie twins." And with that, he too was gone.

"Twice now, you've denied me something I wanted, something that belonged to me." Hera's eyes flashed. "Cabo's out of the question now, boys. I'm afraid you've made an enemy when you needn't have."

Thor cocked his head as he watched her vanish. "I do not understand these so called Midgardian gods. So petty."

"Well, buckos, guess it's time to adios. Got me a lot of lovin' to catch up on." Gabriel's smile for Kali was actually very sweet. "We're outta here."

"Am I the only one who needs a drink? 'Cause I think we ought to get out of here sooner rather than later." Tony glanced at the people who had moved away but never left, and the plethora of cameras still rolling.

…

"So let me get this straight," Sam said in that tone of voice Dean knew all too well. "You gave Kali the bowl so she could bring Gabriel … the Trickster/Loki/pain-in-the-ass/archangel … back from Purgatory?"

"And used up the power so that Crazy Cat Lady Morwen wouldn't get it," Dean argued. "Besides that was better than Hera or Crowley getting hold of it." Dean watched Clint from the corner of his eye; the man was still not okay after what had happened earlier, no matter how jovial he was or how much he drank.

"You going to talk to him?" Sam nudged gently.

"You going to talk to Carol?" Dean countered. The brothers looked at each other for a minute before they both smiled in return. "Fine. One day. Check out's not until noon at this fancy place. Might as well sleep in and order overpriced room service on Stark's dime."

…

"Well, that was weird." Carol sat down next to Clint on the balcony of their new suite; the hotel had graciously moved them … after Tony assured them he would pay for all the damages from earlier. A view of the White House and the mall greeted them as the sun began to sink over the western horizon; parts of the WWII memorial was still roped off, and they could see it from this vantage point. "Archangels, the King of Hell, the Queen of Olympus, the Goddess of Destruction … not to mention being a passenger to one bitch of a driver. You'd think we'd get used to weird by now."

Clint kept drinking Tony's scotch; he'd already had a couple keeping up with Thor and Dean who had taken the Asgardian's drinking as a challenge. But the more he drank, the more intense the memory of Morwen digging into what felt like his soul and opening up the darkest corners that even he didn't know existed. And he damn well didn't want to remember any of that.

"I'm sorry." Her voice was quiet, hand lightly on his knee. "For what she did. I couldn't stop her, no matter how much I tried."

"It wasn't your fault. She was controlling you." Clint could say the phrases without thinking, the words he'd heard over and over again, but never really believed.

"Clint," Carol seemed like she was going to say more, but instead she lapsed into silence, sitting in the cool evening with him.

"Good god, but that guy can drink," Dean sauntered out, glass in hand; he plopped down by Clint, stretching his legs out in front of him.

"That's Thor for you. Even Tony doesn't touch Asgardian wine; it knocks him flat on his ass," Carol stood, gave Clint a wink, and headed inside. "Someone better rein them in though. We've done enough damage to the hotel as it is."

Quiet for a time, Clint knew this was one of the reasons he and Dean worked; Dean respected his secrets, content to wait until Clint was ready to talk or willing to drop the topic completely. Truth was, if anyone would understand, it would be Dean, after all he'd been through. But still, Clint wasn't sure what to say.

"So, I'm thinking, before Sam and I head out tomorrow, we find a tattoo parlor for you and Carol. Stark too, if he wants. It's a fashion statement in our line of work," he said as he pulled his t-shirt down to show his anti-possession tattoo. "There are some other symbols we can add. Might not work against Morwen … or others … but can't hurt."

Clint had to smile at that, the thought of them all in the place together, but it didn't reach his eyes. "Maybe. Considering I'm already compromised, might not work, though."

"The other Loki guy - not Gabriel - Thor's brother, right?" Dean tossed back the rest of his scotch. "And the … what did she call it … Tesseract?"

"Well, he's adopted," Clint wondered where Dean was going with this. "But, yeah, shiny cube of destiny, unlimited power, itty bitty living space."

"You were riding shotgun, right? Controlled by the damn thing?" Dean must have seen the assent in Clint's eyes because he kept on talking. "And you're taking all the blame for what you did while he was driving?"

"I did terrible things, killed people …" Clint began but Dean cut him off, a hardness in his face that brooked no argument.

"What I did, and trust me on this I was a fucking sadist, I choose to do. My own free will." Green eyes stared into the blue-grey of Clint's. "I knew, and I did it anyway."

"It was hell, Dean," Clint said in a virtual whisper; there was no comparison, he knew, between his own experiences and Dean's. The fact that the man was here and functioning and could laugh and drink and be so damn tender when they were in bed was beyond amazing. "You did what you had to."

"So did you." Dean's face softened, the shadow gone as quickly as it came, and a smile began to tug on the edge of his lips. "Now, regardless of what your Loki is, everything can be killed. I figure we make a plan to gank him, just in case we ever need to or you just want to. What's a demi-god or two between friends, right?"

"Is that what we are? Friends? With benefits?" Clint found himself chuckling; Dean could only be serious for so long before he hid his emotions again behind his charming facade. And he was damn charming when he wanted to be.

"Sure," Dean agreed. "Assuming the whole glowing blue eyes thing doesn't stop you from fucking me later. Or do you want to find an audience to hold me down in front of? I think I've got handcuffs in the car."

Clint was honestly laughing now. "Mine are in my bag already, plus a few other toys; I'm the alpha remember? I plan ahead."

It didn't solve anything, not really; there was still the next time to deal with, memories to relive, nightmares to survive for both of them. But, somehow, knowing that they had each other, for how ever short the time, made it just the tiniest bit better.


	9. chapter 10

Carol laughed, a low sultry sound that went straight to Sam's gut; stretched out on the bed, Carol's body laid out against his, he was already half-hard just from the patterns her hand was sketching on the soft cotton of his t-shirt. The glow of the city lights through the sheers lit the room as they lay entwined on top of the bedspread.

"So now I can add possession to my resume, right behind pilot and Avenger." Chin on his chest, she was completely at ease, the memory of the day's events firmly put in the file of strange and exotic things to think about tomorrow. She'd much rather concentrate on the warm pool of lust in her belly, the tingle in her breasts, the rock hard abs of the man beside her.

"Been there," Sam's hand skated down her back in the quiet dark of the night - Thor had left, Stark was gone to his own suite, Clint and Dean had disappeared long ago –and it was just the two of them, riding out the lingering emotions and the smooth liquor they'd consumed. For once, Carol wasn't second guessing, thinking through the whats and ifs; she was going with the moment. There was just the tiniest tilt, and her mouth was so close to his that she could swipe the bottom edge with the tip of her tongue, make him sigh, take the easy way into the kiss. Enjoy the throb of her pulse in the places their bodies were touching, the press of her leg over his, the splay of her hand on his chest, the line of his arm curling up and around her back, drawing her in even tighter. She sank into his heat, let his tongue reel her in closer as he explored the depths of her mouth, slid her bare foot up the heavy denim clad calf and her hand down his cotton-covered abs. Time was suspended as they kissed, long, drawn out and thorough.

She grew restless; Sam seemed content to stay relaxed, but her jangled nerves demanded more. Shifting up, she hungrily opened her mouth and invaded his more aggressively. His hand curved around her ass and clenched, hiking her up further and she took advantage of the new position. Unbuttoning his jeans, she freed his semi-hard cock, palmed the length of it, fingertips teasing his balls; suddenly ravenous for him, she pushed up onto her knees, rising above him, keeping their mouths connected as she began to stroke him firmly. Surprised by the urgency of the assault, he caught her face and tugged her back enough to open his eyes and look at her.

"You don't have to …" He started, but Carol was having none of it. She knew what he wanted and just had to make him understand that she shared the same needs.

"What she said earlier? About knowing what you want?" Carol was already breathing heavily, chest rising and falling quickly at the feel of him hard now and velvety soft in her hand. "I want it too. I mean … look, I intimidate people, men. They expect me to be all dominating and they're terrified of me." She swallowed, a spike of fear running up her spine. She'd face a thousand doombots rather than talk about sex, say what she needed rather than just accept what she was given.

"What do you want, Carol?" Sam asked, his gorgeous eyes encouraging, giving her the courage to say it.

"Oh, god, Sam. I want you to roll me over and take me, fuck me so hard that I scream. Leave bruises and marks and …" the words caught in her throat as he flipped her, his big hands capturing hers and holding her down, clamping around her wrists like vices.

"You sure?" The question hung there between them. She licked lips gone dry from desire, knowing her eyes were wide

"I can take it" she whispered.

And then he gave no quarter, straddling her, rubbing his erection hard against her as he kissed … no, plundered … her mouth; there was nothing easy about any of it, every touch of his mouth on her skin was biting and sucking pressure that dragged another moan out of her, leaving a map of his journey in bruises and red circles. The tiny pricks of pain coalesced and settled between her legs as a low-grade fever, burning through her body.

"Shirt off," he muttered, sitting them up and yanking the hem of hers while she fumbled to get his off; a shove back and he was off of her, unbuckling jeans and wrestling them down her body as his followed, jumping on one foot to kick them off. Then he was back on top of her, nothing now but long sensitive swaths of skin to nip and lick; his mouth found her hardened nipple sucked greedily and then grazed with his teeth, and she arched and cried out his name, fever spiking. Her hands threaded into his hair, but he stopped the glorious thing he was doing with his lips to push them back; rolling off the bed, he dumped his duffel, pawed through the items and came back with silver glinting in his hands, holding handcuffs and a foil packet.

"Oh, hell yes." Her eyes grew even wider and something uncoiled inside of her, some wanton part of her libido that normally sat on the sidelines. "Please?" She held her hands out to him, a tiny logical voice in her head thankful that Tony only stayed in upscale hotels that boasted antique beds with ornate headboards and footboards of wrought iron. One set for each arm – both wrists to the same finial at the end of the bed – and she could still wrap her hands around the metal bar, holding on as he gave her the most sultry smile she'd ever seen, parted her legs and put his mouth to work on driving her completely wild. Relentlessly, he stroked, sucked, bit, plunged his tongue inside of her, used his fingers to take her to the edge of her climax; she was reducing to sobs of pleasure, begging him in at least five different languages to make her come apart. The hard press of iron clenched in her palm, the cool metal of the cuffs on her wrists were juxtaposed with the absolute fire that consumed her from the inside out as his finger found the tangle of nerves and jolted her into an amazingly intense climax. She bucked, trying to throw him off even as she clenched her muscles to draw him further in; if it wasn't a scream that tore out of her throat, it was damn close and she didn't really care one way or the other because he didn't give her any time to catch her breath before he rolled on the condom, buried his cock deep inside and began to ride her.

"Sam," she groaned, the shudders of her release echoing in her voice. "God, yes, fuck me, fuck me hard." Tilting hips up to welcome him in, the wanton part of Carol took over; instead of dropping back to earth, the tension in her ratcheted up even more, as if her first orgasm was just a plateau on the way up to something even more earth-shattering.

"Oh, fuck, Carol," he groaned; bracing his hands beside her on the iron rail, his thrusts made the whole bed creak and groan in protest, but neither of them gave a damn, too lost in the lust spiraling out of control as their bodies collided, his hardness sliding into her wet heat, sweat mixing on their skin. He bent, mouth hungrily taking to her breast, and she recoiled at the sudden influx of pure electricity that his tongue caused, hips thrusting up, his cock slamming into the right spot.

"Sam!" She did scream this time, for sure, because her throat was sore, her voice ragged and hoarse.

He didn't stop, just raised his head and smiled at her and thrust even harder at the same angle. Nothing prepared her for the jolt after jolt that ripped through her; her head hit the footboard as the power of his plunges pushed her forward, inch by inch, and, god, everyone in the suite had to hear them, their gasps for breath, the squeak of the bed, her cries.

Sam's knee slipped off the edge and they went tumbling to the floor, handcuffs rattling as her arms were jerked above her head, bodies separating; she hit her elbow on an iron crossbeam, hard enough to cry out, and she heard Sam's intake of breath as he slammed into hardwood floor. Then he was lifting her up to her knees, wrapping her hands around the finial, holding her up with his arm around her waist, and he was pressing back into her as she braced herself. Her head fell back onto his chest; his strength kept her in place and she gave herself over completely to his control, body coiled so tight that even the slightest breeze of air across her skin stirred her further. She was about to break and she knew it.

"Sam, I'm going to …" she managed to gasp out, and then his teeth came down on her shoulder, his fingers parted her and stroked her clit.

"Going to make you fly," he whispered into her skin just as her world exploded into an orgasm of such intensity that she saw nothing but white behind her eyes, knew only a floating feeling of sated pleasure. She didn't know when he came just seconds behind her, when he rocked them back onto the floor in his own exhaustion, resting them both against the side of the bed. Didn't feel his fingers gently untangling her hair, pulling it away from her sweaty face. First thing she did know was his easy laugh and warm body holding her tightly; the two curled together, her hands still locked to the bed.

"Holy fucking hell." There were no words that suited the moment; nothing had prepared her for what to say after something like this. "Best fucking sex ever. So far in my life. Seriously." She thought about that for a second. "Don't care if it strokes your ego or not. Damn." A couple more breaths and she started to think again. "Don't care if Tony heard the whole thing."

"For what it's worth, I imagine Dean and Clint were too distracted to notice," Sam offered as he nuzzled her neck; little tremors of bliss rocked her. "Now, you want me to unlock you so you can use those on me?"

…

Clint came out of the insanely big master bathroom wearing just his jeans, edgy from too much scotch, too many emotional scars, and a heady dose of anticipation. Dean's earlier question … would it stop him from fucking him tonight … echoed in his head and stirred his body; no matter how much happened, Clint still felt the pull of Dean's attraction. In his experience, lust tended to dim quickly after the first few rounds of sex, the mystery gone once bodies were revealed. Which meant, much to his surprise, that what he felt for Dean wasn't just lust – oh there as more than a healthy amount of pure 'damn but the man is fucking hot' driving his libido, but there was something else, something more. And he wasn't going to think about that. Not when he saw Dean waiting for him, nothing on but a pair of old button-up jeans, completely undone, hanging obscenely low on his hips. All the lights were out except for one small bedside lamp, leaving the room lit by the lights of the city beyond the wall to ceiling windows; curtains were wide open, showing a view of the White House and part of the green space that surrounded the monuments. He stopped to catch the edge of the sheers, starting to pull them close.

"No," Dean said, and Clint stilled. "Leave them open."

"With the light on, anyone can see …." Oh, god, he saw it in Dean's eyes and he shivered, some primal part of him realizing what Dean had planned.

"That's the idea, isn't it?" Dean crowded Clint into the wall of glass, trapping him against the cool surface and Dean's own hot body. "I bet the White House has cameras everywhere, some bored Secret Service agent manning the feeds. Want to give him an eyeful he'll never forget?"

"Dean," Clint breathed the name, eyes drifting closed at the very thought, blood rushing to his cock so fast it was almost painful. A soft brush of thumb down the side of Clint's face, tracing the hairline, curving forward along the jaw, stopping at the corner of his mouth – he opened his eyes and saw the raw need in Dean's face, that endearing little lopsided half-smile he didn't even know he did. Dean's fingers smoothed back into Clint's hair, palm cupping the side of Clint's face.

"You can say no at any time," Dean offered, a tiny flick of his tongue over his lips giving away his own arousal.

"Why the hell would I do that?" Clint matched Dean's honesty by letting his own emotions show, and they hung there for a moment, paused before the headlong rush.

Dean's kiss was like the first time in that dark alley, a light brush that cloaked a burning need, not unsure now, but understanding, sharing pasts filled with pain and loss; so intimate it should scare Clint, a man who kept things close to the chest, send him running for cover, but then Dean was the same, and that was why Clint stilled and parted his lips, giving even more access to the deepest parts of himself. Dean chased the line of Clint's throat with his mouth, kissing a line across his collarbone, sucking in the triangle of flesh in the little vee at the base of Clint's neck. Each taste was exquisitely slow and thorough, and Clint rested the back of his head on the glass as Dean worked his way down to his nipples, taking his time with them before he drifted lower, easing down to his knees. His fingers paused on the button on Clint's jeans then dragged along the bulge, teasing through the denim.

"Not going to take much," Dean tugged the zipper and pulled the jeans down; Clint lifted enough for them to slip over his hips, and he hissed a little when his ass hit the cold window. Dean just grinned and stripped them the rest of the way off before he settled his hands on Clint's hips and brought his lips to the head of Clint's cock. "Think about it, what someone would see, your back, that mighty fine ass, me on my knees."

"Fuuuuuuucccckkk," Clint groaned, low and drawn out as Dean tasted him; swirling his tongue around the head, he spread the pearly liquid leaking from the slit. He worked his way along the stiff length with his tongue and his lips until he finally swallowed Clint down. "Damn, Dean, god that's so good, god, oh, hell, good god …."

Clint could barely focus on anything but the feel of Dean's mouth and the slick glass under his hands, the image of them burned into his brain; he's spent too many hours watching through scopes to not know exactly how lighting worked and the way their bodies would be silhouetted in the night. As Dean pulled and then released, Clint rested his hands in Dean's hair, stroking light caresses as he rode the sensation, tension curling in his gut as he began to move his hips in time with Dean's rhythm. Just as he knew Clint was on the edge, Dean pulled back and stood up; Clint groaned and banged his head against the window.

"Turn around, put your hands on the window," Dean tugged him, warm hands on Clint's waist.

"Damn," he murmured as he complied, bracing himself, looking at their reflections. God, he was completely debauched, face flushed, eyes wide, cock straining forward; Dean ran a hand up the knobs of Clint's spine, stroking the hairs at the back of Clint's neck, leaning in to drop a light kiss behind his ear. Green eyes were darker, hooded with lust, as Dean met Clint's gaze in the window.

"You know," he dug into his pocket and busied his hands, preparing; fingers traced down, over the dip and along the curve, between Clint's cheeks, teasing. "There's someone with a cell phone out there." He eased one finger past the tight muscle and Clint couldn't help but clench around it. "Now, we are pretty far up," he stroked in and out, circling as Clint gasped and strained back, "but, hell, you're a superhero, and people love to know everything about you guys." Clint dropped his head to his chest as Dean added a second finger. "We'll be one of those YouTube sensations, maybe make the tabloids." Dean's other hand stroked down Clint's chest, along his hip and down his thigh. "Hawkeye getting fucked." Shaking, Clint gritted his teeth to hold himself back, so ready that he had to take deep breaths as Dean's three fingers opened him wider.

"God, you've got to stop or I'm going to come right now," Clint moaned then his ass was empty as Dean withdrew his fingers, kicking off his pants and getting himself ready, condom and lube from his pocket. Dean's hands clenched at Clint's hips and he was breaching Clint, pushing up and in, a slow burn that dragged a mutual groan from them both.

"Clint. Damn, you feel good," Dean murmured. He dropped his nose into the curve of Clint's neck and Clint could feel the warm exhale as Dean rocked his hips, sinking a little deeper, stealing a glance in the glass at Clint's face. "God."

As Dean started to move, Clint kept his eyes locked on Dean's, the two of them intimately joined, juxtaposed over the city lights. Sounds from outside filtered in and mixed with their ragged breaths, the murmurs of encouragement, the half-strangled terms of endearment that could only be said at this moment. Dean snapped his hips harder, and Clint cursed, the angle just right so the intense pleasure rattled his bones. He could feel Dean's silver ring against his hip where fingers dug in, could see the concentration in Dean's eyes, could tell when Dean crossed over and started to lose control. His thrusts were faster and Clint matched him, pushing back into Dean's strokes.

"You ready?" Dean growled in his ear. "Close your eyes, think about stumbling on this, on some stupidly boring stakeout, no sound, just the grainy video of us, right now, when I'm about to come inside of you …."

"Holy fuck," Clint couldn't think, could only arch his back and cry out as the orgasm hit him, and he came, the release rolling through him as Dean stuttered and followed him. Aftershocks shook him and his knees trembled, but he stayed upright as Dean's weight slumped against his back, bodies molding together as they tried to catch their breaths. "I am so fucking fired if this hits the internet."

Dean chuckled and kissed the nape of Clint's neck. "The reflective glaze will make it impossible to get a clear view. Give me some credit. And, hell, Stark has a ton of porn videos out there."

"True," Clint sighed as Dean slipped out of him and pulled away. Turning, Clint caught Dean's elbow and reeled him in, wrapping his arms around the other man's waist. "And that was definitely worth it." The kiss was soft and bordered right on the edge of sweet, Clint's emotions evident in the brush of sensitive lips. "Makes my plan seem not quite as original, I'll give you that." He let Dean go and snatched up his jeans from the floor. Using some Kleenex to clean himself up, and the window, Clint slipped into his pants as Dean did the same.

"Plan?" Dean cocked a questioning eyebrow at him as Clint opened the small refrigerator in the room and took out a white box tied with string. "Oh, hell. When did you have time to do that?"

"Asked the front desk before we left earlier. They brought it up." He sat the box on the small table and opened it. "This is called a Baltimore Bomb. Vanilla chess with Berger cookies mixed in. It was featured on the Food Network as a guilty pleasure." He scooped up a broken piece from where it had been cut into slices and offered it to Dean.

"Oh, I know what you have in mind, and you'll have to wait a bit. I'm not sixteen anymore." Despite his complaint, Dean took the proffered hand and licked the pie off, sucking in Clint's finger with a wicked grin. "Ah, damn, that's good. Got a plate? I'll take a piece now for energy." He looked longingly at the rest of the pie.

"No plates," Clint nudged Dean towards the bed. "Fingers and hands … and other body parts only. Turnabout, fair play and all."

"Aw, fuck, Clint."

….

"You going to eat that last piece of bacon?" Clint snagged it from the plate even as he asked. Sam poured skim milk over his granola as Dean tucked into a stack of blueberry pancakes. Carol was working on her on granola and strawberry mixture. They'd ordered room service, on Tony's dime of course, and were eating their way through the spread the hotel had brought up.

Clint's phone rang; he checked caller i.d. and wrinkled his nose. It was the call he'd been half-dreading, but expecting. Nodding to Dean, he stepped away, into the living room, to answer.

"And what the hell is this video I'm watching? You better have a good explanation, Barton," Nick Fury's voice boomed out of the handset.

"Video, sir?" Never give anything away. First rule of espionage. Or just butt saving 101.

"Heard of camera phones? Bane of my fucking existence?" Fury didn't sound all that angry, considering. If he was really pissed, he'd have already ordered Clint to pack his bags.

"Hard to stop people from using them, sir." He saw Dean eyeing him and gave him a shrug.

"Well, next time you and Danvers and Stark decide to have a throw down by the reflecting pool in D. C. you can damn well at least prepare the PR department for the fallout. And bringing in non-combatants? Coulson's going to kick your ass for all the paperwork you've caused."

"Yes, sir, of course sir," he said with his usual sarcasm. One day, he was going to go too far with Fury, but now he was too relieved that it was just yesterday's skirmish that Fury was yelling about. He gave Dean a little negative shake of his head.

"Belay that shit, Barton and get your asses back to New York so Phil knows what bullshit to put in the report. Tonight," he ordered.

"Will do," he said.

"Oh, and Barton?" Fury said as Clint started to cut off the call. "You owe me a bottle of Bowmore Legend and a box of Cubans. That's the going rate to bribe a Secret Service agent. The pie was a nice touch though. Bring a couple back."

Clint wasn't sure why he thought he could ever fool Nick Fury. Damn man knew everything.

Carol's phone buzzed just as Clint sat back down. "April?" She asked as she connected. She listened intently for a few minutes, the rise and fall of the detective's voice clear. "Actually, they're sitting right here having breakfast. Why don't you just ask them?" She held out the phone to Sam. "April's got a case that sounds like it's right up your alley."

"Hello?" Sam tentatively asked, taking his turn to listen. "Look, strange question, but were there any electrical disturbances? Lights flickering? Cold spots?" He snagged the pad of paper by the phone and started jotting down notes. "Seven? In one place? No, that's not usual, but in our experience anything is possible. Give me directions to Sunset Beach." He wrote down an address. "Tell the Sheriff we'll be there say," he glanced at Dean and they silently communicated, "by four?"

They finished their breakfast and packed quickly; none of them had a lot to gather up. One thing about their lives, they all knew how to say goodbye and move on without any closure. And they all knew that this thing with Morwen was only postponed due to magical intervention. But they had one more stop before they headed out of town. Carol went for a spot just below the curve of her back, the Enochian symbols in a line below the charm. Clint picked his upper back for the charm and let Dean talk him into a circlet of symbols around his left bicep. He had to admit, it did look pretty damn sexy there even if SHIELD regs forbid identifying marks. Better flaunting the rules than possessed. He figured Coulson would understand, at least.

…

_Pulling herself back together took more energy than she could afford to expend and was excruciatingly painful, but it had to be done. The strange world she found herself on was none too friendly, all science and machines, magic relegated to myth and legend; it took much too long to find the vessel, a measly one but it would have to do, and by then she was so weak that she had to sacrifice three others just to be able to rejoin the woman's ship and leave the planet. Their aversion to religion of any kind amused her; they might not worship any god, but they gave technology the same place in their lives. All she had to do was gather her strength and wait. Soon, very soon, she'd used their science to punch a hole back into her own universe … then she'd have two worlds to play with and be stronger than ever._


End file.
